


Exile

by a_windsor



Series: Exile [1]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-10
Updated: 2015-06-27
Packaged: 2018-03-07 00:46:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 41,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3154532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_windsor/pseuds/a_windsor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nyssa and Sara fake her death at the end of 3x01 and send the Canary into hiding. Season 3 Fix-it Fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sara hears the boots hit the roof and turns around in surprise to see Nyssa.

“What-“

“My father is going to kill you.”

The words just hang between them for a few moments, Sara’s blood running cold, Nyssa’s eyes filling with pain.

“Many people risked their lives to tell me this.”

Sara swallows hard. “And what are you going to do about it?”

Nyssa says nothing, looking down. Sara closes her eyes.

“I’d prefer you do it, rather than him,” Sara says, resigned. Nyssa is her father’s daughter, and the agony is written all over her face. “You can make it fast.”

There’s a hand on her face, and Sara is surprised to open her eyes and meet Nyssa’s gaze, an arms-length away.

“I am _not_ going to kill you,” Nyssa says forcefully. “ _No one is_. I promised your father. I promised you.”

“But Ra’s-“

“We will figure something out,” Nyssa cuts her off, kissing her quickly. “But for now we must move. And quickly.”  
  
***  
  
They fake her death.

Again.

It’s agonizing to do it on purpose this time, to make her family believe that she is gone for good, instead of just letting them assume.

But Ra’s al-Ghul is all-seeing, all-knowing, all-powerful, and only someone like Nyssa could pull this off against him.

Maybe.

The vial Nyssa hands her is enough to render her all-but dead for twenty-four hours. Nyssa positions her carefully, so that an awning will slow her descent, and fires three, non-lethal, arrows into Sara’s chest just half a second after loosing one into the would-be assassin’s knee.

Sara feels the white-hot tear of each arrow, registers the agony in Nyssa’s face, and then the world goes dark.  
  
***  
  
“Breathe deeply, habibti. Slowly.”

Her chest is burning and her vision is swimming. She focuses on Nyssa’s voice as everything comes back to her. She has conquered pain, had it burned and beaten out of her, but rising from the dead with three arrow wounds is not particularly comfortable.

Finally she silences the rush of returning reality and narrows the sensations down to one: Nyssa’s fingers softly stroking her cheek. She expands her senses to feel herself cradled in Nyssa’s arms.

“Hi,” she tries to say. It’s more of a croak than anything discernible, but Nyssa smiles gently.

Nyssa is whispering reassurances in a swirl of languages, and Sara’s pretty impressed with herself that she can both distinguish the languages and more or less remember what it means. Not bad for the formerly dead.

“Did it work?”

Nyssa’s smile fades, but she nods.

“Your sister found your body as we suspected. Oliver Queen and the others held your body for almost the entire twenty-four hours before burying it in your former grave. They plan to hold a funeral in two days, when your mother gets to Starling. Your grave is, of course, empty now.”

Sara shudders. Now. Having actually been buried in your premature grave is even more creepy than having one.

“I administered a sedative to aid in transportation. Felicity had already stitched your wounds.”

“But she thought I was dead.”

Nyssa nods. “She took great care with you, still. You will take longer to heal. An unfortunate side effect of the elixir. But you should recover.”

“And do what?” Sara says. “I’m dead.”

“You _are not_ ,” Nyssa says sternly. “That was the point.”

“You know what I mean. What now?"

"Now, we find somewhere for you to recover."  
  
***  
  
It’s a crappy hotel, because crappy hotels are anonymous. It’s not a long term solution, by any means, or even a medium term solution, but Sara can’t even walk, so it’ll do for now. Until they figure something else out. Tomorrow is the funeral, the fake funeral everyone thinks is real. Nyssa has already been recalled to Nanda Parbat, but her supposed grief buys them three more days. Two together, one to travel.

Nyssa keeps Sara as comfortable as she can.

"What now?" Sara croaks for the tenth time.

"Shh," Nyssa soothes, brushing a warm wet cloth across Sara's brow.

"No, Nyssa. We have to have a plan. Where can I go?"

"We," Nyssa corrects.

"No. Me. They'll find us together."

  
"Who will protect you if we are apart?"

"I can take care of myself. We need to pick a place. Get me an identity the League can't trace. Go get my money. Leave a little aside, then get the rest to my family. Then-"

"Habibti. Please rest. Our plans will be for naught if you die of your wounds.”  
  
***  
  
Sara finally falls back asleep. Nyssa continues to watch her, refusing to close her eyes, lest Sara slip away.

She made a choice, chose Sara over her father, over the League, probably over her own life. And she would do it again and again, just to keep her Taer al-Asfer safe. But the sting of betrayal, her beloved’s murder by order of her father… It boils within her. She must seek revenge. As soon as she gets Sara to safety.  
  
***  
  
Nyssa attends Sara’s funeral. There’s a moment of awkwardness when Dinah and Laurel begin to object, but surprisingly, Captain Lance comes to her defense. With a teary Felicity at his back, he insists she be allowed to stay.

Still, out of respect, she stays on the outskirts of the small assembly. And though she knows that Sara is in actuality alive, she finds herself forgetting. Finds herself imagining what would have happened if she hadn’t been warned, if her father’s man had completed his mission…

It takes all of her training not to break down.

When the funeral is over, she quickly disappears. She cannot face all that grief right now, not when she knows it’s all a lie.  
  
***  
 “Thank god you’re back. I’m starving!”

“That’s a good sign.”

Nyssa deposits a bag of Big Belly Burger on the nightstand. She turns up her nose, but her yellow bird deserves a little spoiling right now.

Sara grins at the sight.

“I should almost die more often.”

Nyssa glares at her, and Sara manages that playful half-smile of hers, even with pale cheeks and dark circles around her eyes.

“I’m kidding,” she soothes. “Come, sit with me. Where are you going to hide me first?”

“Hopefully only once. And I shall take care of the details. Your work now is to be well enough to protect yourself, as you tell me you can. Enjoy your lunch. I have a few more errands to run, but I shall return shortly.”

“You’re leaving again?” Sara pouts.

“Briefly. For supplies.” She kisses her warmly. “Keep the door locked.”  
  
***  
  
“I need your assistance.”

Felicity jumps, phone flying out of her hand and up over her shoulder, clattering onto the ground behind the couch. Shit.

She’s been frayed at the edges since Laurel appeared with Sara’s body. Frayed and hollow. And jumpy.

But leather-clad, red-veiled, daughter of the demon, is sorta an okay thing to be jumpy about.

Not scared, though.

There was so much pain in Nyssa’s eyes at the funeral this morning. Sympathy had evaporated Felicity’s terror.

“Hi,” Felicity says, straightening her askew glasses.

“I apologize for startling you,” Nyssa says formally. “I’ve come to recruit you for something of the utmost secrecy.”

“I, um - What?”

“I must return to Nanda Parbat, but I need eyes and ears in this country on a very special… project. Talented eyes and ears. Invested eyes and ears.”

“I’m… not sure I want to work for the League of Assassins.”

“This is not for the League. This is for me.”

Felicity considers. Felicity thinks of Sara, of how much, how obviously, she loved Nyssa. (Obvious to her, at least. The boys are a little dim.) For some reason, she says yes.

“What I am about to tell you, where I am about to take you, must remain only between us,” Nyssa says, eyes flashing steel. “I will kill anyone you tell. Including Oliver Queen.”

“Whoa - hey, wait - “

“Sara is alive.”  
  
***  
  
“We buried a live body. We buried a live body,” Felicity is still trying to process. “I sewed up a live body. I - “

“Felicity,” Nyssa interrupts, not taking her eyes off the road. “Are you alright?”

“Sara is alive!” Felicity cries. “That’s - that’s crazy! And you want me to help you hide her and never, ever, ever tell any of the people who love her.”

“Yes.”

“But she’s alive,” Felicity says softly, letting her eyes drift out the window. “She’s _alive_.”

“Yes,” Nyssa replies gently.

“Holy crap.”

  
***  
  
She’s not expecting it, but when she sees Sara for the first time again, Felicity sobs.

Beautiful, brave, a little broken, but miraculously _alive_ Sara.

“Hey you,” Sara grins softly.

She still looks tiny. Not dead on a table tiny. But bundled in a blanket, still pale and weak, curled in a bed in a sketchy hotel room. Felicity rushes forward, gathering Sara up in her arms.

“It’s okay,” Sara soothes. “It’s okay.”  
  
***  
  
“Your new ID will be waiting at the house tomorrow. Here’s all your new bank accounts,” Felicity turns her tablet to Sara, “Cards are in the mail. You’re a former defense contractor. I’ll try to find a job for you once you’ve recovered a little more. Speaking of, lemme see your sutures.”

She’s already tugging at Sara’s tank top, and Sara sees Nyssa’s barely-there grin out of the corner of her eye.

“It’s fine. You did a good job,” Sara shoos.

“Stop whining.”

Nyssa raises an eyebrow as if seconding the assessment.

“Fi-ine.”

Felicity tuts over the stitches. “If I’d known you were alive…”

“I’ve got plenty of scars, Felicity. It’s part of the look,” Sara calms. “Don’t worry.”

“And you’re sure I can’t tell anyone? Not even your family?”

Sara winces, and not from Felicity’s prodding. “Especially not my family.”

A frown crosses Felicity’s face, but she nods resolutely. Sara knows she can trust her.

“John and Lyla named the baby after you.”

“They did what?!” Sara bursts. She looks immediately to Nyssa. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I did not know of such a child,” Nyssa shakes her head.

“That’s gonna be awkward when you come back from the dead,” Felicity comments.

She says when, but Nyssa and Sara exchange a look: they both know it’s an ‘if’. Felicity is not dumb or naive, so she probably does, too.

“Do you have a picture?” Sara deflects from the moment.

“Just a couple,” Felicity grins, immediately fishing in her purse for a phone with a now-shattered screen. “Crap. Guess I need a new phone. Speaking of…”

She keys a few things into hers and then sets it down, retrieving another smartphone from her bag. Sara smiles when she sees the baby pictures pop up on the new phone screen.

“This is yours. _That’s_ Baby Sara. _And_ if you hit this icon,” she taps an unassuming tile, “There is a secure connection to me. ‘Cause I’m your backup. I mean the whole phone is secure. And untraceable. But this part especially.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.” Sara notices the time when she takes the device from Felicity. She smiles sadly. “Nyssa should take you back. Ollie’ll notice.”

Felicity shrugs. “He’s probably just hitting some things.” But even she has to admit it’s time to go. She begins to pack up her things. “I’m leaving very specific wound care instructions, okay? Take care of yourself.”

“You got it, doctor.”

Felicity studies her intently for a few more seconds, then her face crumples and she throws herself into Sara’s arms again.

“Please take care of yourself.”  
  
***  


tbc


	2. Chapter 2

Nyssa (with Felicity’s assistance) sets her up in the suburbs of Coast City. It seems like a place no one would look for her, so close to Starling, so utterly not Canary. Nyssa has bought  her a cute little house through an alias or two, just two bedrooms, with a small yard and comfy back porch.

Sara thinks it’s a stroke of brilliance. There are plenty of places around the world where a blue-eyed blonde American named Sara sticks out. Suburban Coast City is not one of them. There must be at least a dozen in her zip code alone.

Nyssa comes when she can, but that’s not often. She’s under the microscope, playing the grieving yet obedient daughter, convincing Ra’s that his assassination was successful. When she leaves Sara, every time could be the last. It’s always been that way between them, but this feels different. 

The first time she'd left, all their passion had been thrown into a few kisses, Sara’s body too broken to express it any other way. They exchanged few words that weren’t about logistics. Nyssa was so full of rage, but struggling to tamp it down. Nyssa wasn’t raised to express her feelings in ways that didn’t involved breaking things (and people). Though the mission of getting to the truth of Sara’s would-be murder and planning revenge against her own father has given her purpose, Sara still sees that rage boiling inside of Nyssa when she visits.

    For Sara's part, she has trouble mustering any anger. She spends most of her days watching crap TV and stumbling to and from the bathroom. She is finally starting to get back on her feet, but she still doesn't have the energy to get a job. Falling three stories with three arrows in her abdomen and ingesting a drug that basically killed her for twenty-four hours has definitely taken its toll. 

    So she cleans the handgun Nyssa brought her. It's less conspicuous than her bo, and she can't even swing that anyway. She cleans the gun, sometimes cleans her dishes,  and gets sick of anything having to do with housewives, real or not. 

    Felicity filled a Kindle for her, but Sara has always struggled with the attention span necessary to really read. Of course, Nyssa used to read to her for hours in Arabic and Russian and Mandarin and Spanish, but that was different. Very different. 

    And in this too quiet house, she feels a malaise begin to set in.

Sara has been injured before. She has been alone before. She has been injured and alone before. But this time feels different. Her months with Team Arrow had let her grow re-accustomed to human warmth, and she'd left that camaraderie for Nyssa's arms. She hates to admit it, but she is incredibly lonely.

She speaks to Felicity rarely. For one, it isn't very fair to make the other woman entertain her, all while lying to their friends. For another, no matter how secure Felicity has made their communications, Sara doesn't want to gamble. Not when it's the League they are (possibly) up against. Not when it's Felicity who would be at risk. 

So Sara keeps watching soaps and _Maury_ and tries her best to make herself strong enough to go to work doing anything.

Anything but being alone in an empty house, thinking about her mourning father, sobbing mother, devastated sister.

Anything but that.  
  
***  
  
Nyssa beats a familiar tattoo against the door, but Sara still answers with the gun in her hand. Just in case. Once she's pulled the Heir to the Demon into her home, however, Sara sets the gun on the windowsill and throws herself into her arms.

"You're moving much better," Nyssa says, voice muffled by Sara's shoulder. 

Sara nods. It's a moment of weakness, but Nyssa has always been the one person she can be weak around.

She tugs Nyssa back towards the couch at the back of the small house. Nyssa obliges, leaving a duffle bag where she dropped it by the door. Sara kisses her, easily guiding them, unseeing, backwards. The room isn’t big, and she already knows it like the back of her hand, even though it’s only been six weeks. Nyssa trusts her enough to let herself be led.

Nyssa pulls them up short, though, at the sofa, pulling away and looking in her eyes. Sara knows she is trying to be careful, gentle, but it’s only the second time she’s seen her, and the first she’d still been in bad shape. She hasn’t _just_ been lonely.

After a huff of disapproval, Sara spins them and shoves Nyssa onto the couch. She catches the wolfish grin that passes over Nyssa’s face as she lets herself fall.

“You _are_ feeling better, then,” she notes.

“Talk later,” Sara growls, falling on top of her.

“But habibti,” Nysa breathes in her ear. “I thought you liked it when I talked.”  
  
***  
  
Later, the setting sun streaming through the curtains, Nyssa traces Sara’s newest scars with her lips.

“Are you okay?” Sara asks, struck by the reverence with which Nyssa has been studying her.

“You seem to be mostly healed,” Nyssa says softly, breathing into Sara’s collar bone.

“My stamina isn’t what it was, though,” Sara laughs, eyes drooping.

“Yes,” Nyssa says dryly, “but you’ve always been content to let me do all the work.”

Sara lets out a squeak of protest, but she really has expended the last of her energy. Nyssa smiles fondly and kisses her temple. Then she begins to disentangle herself from the couch, leaving the fleece throw tucked around Sara. Through sleepy, appreciative eyes, Sara watches her slip back into her t-shirt and leggings.

“Wait here. Rest. I’ll make dinner. If you have anything resembling food in this house.”

“Mmm. Funny,” Sara says, feeling herself start to drift off.  
  
***  
  
When she wakes, the sun has completely set and light comes from the tiny kitchen door across from the living room. 

Nyssa emerges, bringing a plate of something that smells pretty damn good.

“You had a surprising amount of food. And almost healthy.”

“Hey, I’ve got a car. I can grocery shop… and then nap after.”

“Mhmm.”

Sara sits up, only a little light-headed, and accepts the plate gratefully.

“So how long do I have you?”

“Forever,” Nyssa says, a twinkle in her eye.

“You sap. I meant here with me, this time,” Sara grins at her.

“Two nights, if that.”

"Okay," Sara says, trying to hide her disappointment. It's silly, she knows, but she still feels it. "I think I'm gonna try to get a bartender job in a couple weeks."

She digs into the chicken and rice and ignores Nyssa's concerned, wrinkled brow.

"I don't want you to push yourself," Nyssa tuts.

"And I don't want to literally go crazy."

"Habibti..."

"I can't sit around here all day, Nyssa. With no one and nothing but a tv and the Internet. I need something a little more."

"It opens you up to detection."

"I know how to maintain a cover."

"Not if you're losing consciousness from exhaustion. Wait a little longer." Nyssa pauses. "Please."

And how can she argue with the Heir to the Demon saying please?

"Just a little longer," Sara agrees.

"Thank you. Maybe we could get you a pet to occupy your time. You always loved the cats."

"Aw! How are they?"

"Doing their duty well. No mice."

Sara rolls her eyes.

"One of the cooks has a young daughter that checks on them every day; they are well cared for."

"Better."

"A dog, though, would perhaps better occupy your time now?"

  
***  
  
This was her idea, but Nyssa hadn’t quite realized that she would have to _attend_ the choosing of the dog. It is not the loudest place she’s ever been, nor the place with the foulest smell, but it certainly isn’t pleasant. Instead, she chooses to focus on Sara, who is bubbling with delight and dragging her along by her hand. Her yellow bird has always been an enigma, her bright shell hiding a dark core. But she’s also always fit in more with “normal people” (as she calls them) than Nyssa ever has, can more easily move between worlds.

They move from chainlink pen to chainlink pen, mutts of every size and temperament pressed against the metal. Some bark, some wag their tails excitedly, some cower. Sara seems to consider them all, before returning to one particular kennel.

"This one."

Nyssa frowns. “I was thinking something that could actually aid in your protection.”

“She’s ferocious! Look!”

The dog in question (at least Nyssa thinks it is a dog; it could very well be a rat) looks up at her with baleful eyes.

“Very,” Nyssa says flatly.

But Sara has her heart set on this tiny dog, which is not more than five kilos, if that. Nyssa has almost certainly seen rats larger. And she cannot say no to Sara.

“This one,” Sara repeats, kneeling beside it, reaching her fingers through the links and getting them immediately licked for her trouble. 

Nyssa sighs.

"If we must."  
  
***  
  
“I was thinking,” Nyssa says into the darkness. Sara feels her tracing freckles in the moonlight. The dog, which she named Rocket after her favorite baseball team, is curled at their feet, despite Nyssa’s objections.

“Mm. What were you thinking?”

“Perhaps I should have let you go. Or, rather, not allowed you to come back.”

“Nyssa…”

“You belong in _this_ world, Sara.”

“I belong in your world. Whatever and wherever that may be. You did let me go, and I _chose_ to come back. I choose you, no matter what.”

That Nyssa makes no retort tells Sara that her point is taken. The silence lingers comfortably between them, Sara pressing her face into Nyssa’s hair and inhaling deeply.

Some time later, Nyssa speaks again.

“I cannot stand to look at him. I am sure I will break soon, before I can ascertain his motives for ordering your murder. To stand obedient in his presence makes me sick inside.”

“And moving too soon will get you killed.”

“I am likely to be killed either way,” Nyssa says, dispassionately.

“No, you’re not. You promised.”

“Sara…”

“You’re not going to die. If you die, we might as well have let Ra’s’s guy kill me in Starling,” Sara says firmly.

“Never say that,” Nyssa hisses.

“It’s true. You have to figure out what is going on and make him pay, or none of this was worth it. Or I’m going to be stuck here, alone, talking to the dog, until the League hunts me down and kills me for real. If you die, I die.”

Nyssa nods, and her stilled fingers resume their tracing. At the foot of the bed, Rocket stands, circles a few times, then drops back onto the mattress with a huff.

“I think she’s trying to tell us it’s time to sleep,” Sara says, gently now.

“I think she’s bossy.”  
  
***    
  
At first, Sara hadn’t been entirely sold on the idea of a dog, even though she agreed to go along with it and even fell for little Rocket at the shelter.  She’s never had a dog. In fact, besides her beloved canary, the only pets she’s ever owned are the trio of kittens she and Nyssa raised in Nanda Parbat. Cats were much better suited for the life they’d lead then, in and out at a moment’s notice.  Rocket takes time and energy and a _routine_. But she also gives more companionship than those cats ever did. And in these cold, long, lonely nights, that’s exactly what Sara needs. The routine is good for her, too. It lends some structure to her days, prevents them from blending into a half-aware blur of night and day.

Rocket is... Well, a dork, but she loves her for it. She has one ear up and one down, almost constantly. She's ten pounds, never going to get bigger (unless Sara spoils her), and loves nothing more than decently long walks and snuggles on the couch. The walks around the neighborhood have helped advance Sara's recovery. And so have the snuggles, if she's being honest with herself. There is also something incredibly healing about having that tiny, warm body tucked against her belly when she wakes from a nightmare, which happens more than she's ever told anyone, even Nyssa.

Now, Rocket watches quizzically as Sara stretches, occasionally lunging forward and giving her face a good licking. Only three weeks with this pup in her life, and Sara has trouble imagining life without her. It’s even made her reluctant to go get the job she finally feels ready for, to leave little Rocket alone. But she talks to a creature that can’t talk back almost constantly, so Sara thinks, for her mental health, that she should probably take the couple bartender shifts that Felicity found for her next week at some totally average bar.

Ten weeks in, and Sara realizes this is the most normal she’s lived since she stepped onto the _Queen’s Gambit_. If it weren’t for Nyssa being constantly in danger of never returning, it might almost be nice. And if all this quiet time alone with her mind and its demons weren’t slowly driving her mad…

  
*** 

 

tbc


	3. Chapter 3

She wakes from a routine nightmare of blood on her hands and that tell-tale gurgling sound to Rocket licking her face urgently.

It’s a disconcerting juxtaposition, but she’s actually pretty used to it. She stumbles into sweatpants and socks, dumping food into Rocket’s bowl for her morning meal. Working bartender’s hours just _sometimes_ has made “breakfast” and “dinner” obsolete terms. She didn’t work last night, so she tried to sleep normal-ish hours. Fall’s late sunrise and early sunset aren’t helping matters.

After Rocket wolfs down her food, Sara opens the back door so that the dog can run out and do her business. She leaves the door open as she yawns and pulls herself onto the pull-up bar hanging in the door between the kitchen and the living room. The fall chill only helps wake her up more, chasing away the nightmare’s demons. She’s not worried about security so much anyway: she can take any local thugs that may wander by, and a closed door, locked or otherwise, won’t stop the League. She’s got a full sight line on it, anyway. No one is sneaking up on her.

There’s still a tiny tug from her healing wounds, but as long as she doesn’t overexert herself, she’s fine. Sara lets the comfortable rhythm of the pull-ups gather her mind back into the right place. She can’t wash the blood from her hands; she can only live with who she is and who she was and who she wants to be.

Who she wants to be, of course, is the real question. The two things she’s been struggling with for years now are her need to be with Nyssa and her need to stop the killing. The second had overrun the first for a while, but it wasn’t sustainable. In the end, she knows she has already chosen. She will sacrifice anything to be with Nyssa. Even surrounded by Team Arrow, doing good, saving people, there had been a giant Nyssa-sized hole in her world. One that has now returned.

Rocket comes bounding back inside, leaping to put her paws on Sara’s shins.

“Yeah, yeah. Okay. I’ll give you attention, you brat.”

Sara drops to her feet and scoops the pup up. She brings her into the kitchen and navigates getting breakfast with a mercenary little dog in her arms.

“Ah-ah. Behave or you’re on the ground and I’m sitting on the counter. You’re cute and smart, but I’m still taller, Lady Napoleon.”

Her phone buzzes, and she dumps the toast on the counter and grabs it. It’s a message from Felicity.

_I’m about to knock on your front door. Please don’t shoot me._

As if on cue, Rocket starts to bark and squirm. Sara puts her down, and she sprints to the door, very angrily barking at it.

“Rocket, stop it. She’s a friend.”

Sara opens the door, and Felicity throws herself into her arms.

“What are you doing here?”

“I brought donuts. And coffee. Don’t worry; no one followed me. This house is super cute, by the way. And oh my goodness. Is this your dog? _She_ ’s super cute. Oh, and I bring a message from your superscary girlfriend.”

“She’s not-“

Felicity gives her a look from where she is squatted petting Rocket’s ears.

“Okay, yeah, she’s scary.”

“And is girlfriend really the right word? I mean, I know you’re like very committed these days. Fake your death and go up against Nyssa’s dad level committed. You’re not married, are you? You’d tell me, right? You’d’ve invited me, right?!”

Rocket, who has absolutely zero manners, is jumping up at Felicity.

“She likes to be held,” Sara says, smirking. “And no, we’re not married.”

“Okay, just checking,” Felicity says, picking up the wiggly dog.

Sara grabs a coffee.

“How’d you get away?” she asks.

“Oliver is not my boss. Anymore. I can go where I want to,” Felicity insists.

“Okay,” Sara says, realizing she must have stepped into something larger. “You said you have a message from Nyssa?”

“Oh yeah,” Felicity says, handing the bag of donuts over. “I just love my random phone calls from the Heir to the Demon. She gave me an address where she wants you to meet her tomorrow. She can’t make it all the way here, plus she thought it would be good if you mixed it up. I’m guessing you’re not any closer to getting sprung from here?”

“No.” She tries not to think about what it would take to leave here safely. She hasn’t thought of a way to end this without Nyssa putting a sword through her father, and for all his cruelty, the bond between father and daughter is strong enough that the idea pains Sara. “How’s… my dad? Laurel?”

Felicity winces, and Sara’s stomach drops further.

“Sorry; I shouldn’t have asked. This is already hard enough on everyone. No, Rocket, no coffee. You are seriously hyper enough.”

Sara bats the dog’s face away from the coffee in Felicity’s other hand. She grabs the paper tray and then steals one of the cups for herself. She leads Felicity to the couch and opens the bag of donuts, which immediately steals Rocket’s attention. She wiggles her way out of Felicity’s arms and hops onto the couch, nose right in the action. They pass the next half hour evading Rocket’s insistent attempts to steal food and making small talk about bar patrons and Dig trying to tolerate Oliver and Roy (and failing ninety percent of the time). It’s light and airy and refreshing, until Felicity asks:

“How are you holding up?”

Sara feels her throat contract, her eyes prick with treasonous tears, and she fights back unwanted images of blood and death and wailing children.

“Fine,” she manages.

“Sara.”

“As in, not good. Not great. But not bad. Fine.”

“Okay,” Felicity nods, picking at the remains of the final sprinkle donut and playfully pushing Rocket away from her. “Must be nice to have her for company, at least.”

Sara catches the tenacious dog and pulls her into her lap.

“She definitely helps.”  
  
***  
  
That night, long after Felicity has gone back to Starling and another chilly night has settled into Coast City, Sara is taking Rocket out for her daily “smell everything and wear myself out” walk. She has a scarf pulled up around her neck and a leather coat tugged tight, Rocket decked out in her own little sweater which Nyssa mercilessly mocked on her last visit.

 _She’s an_ animal _, habibti. She has_ fur _._

Sara finds the walks strangely peaceful, even if they sometimes pull at her longing for her family. It isn’t homesickness - she passed that point so long ago, and home is Nyssa as much as Starling, now, if not more so.

But when she passes the tightly, neatly packed houses of this working class suburb, where she can smell the sea just a few blocks away, she is most reminded of her dad’s cooking and her mom’s laugh, and Laurel pressed beside her on the couch talking about her big dreams for the future.

Many nights, Sara and Rocket walk all the way to the beach; Rocket can smell and dig to her heart’s content, and Sara likes to look out over the ocean. The ocean took something from her. It beat, battered, and broke her. But in the end it brought her to Nyssa. It spit her out to be made anew. She and the ocean have called a truce, and now the lapping waves remind her most of nights hidden away on a nameless freighter as she and Nyssa breathed forgiveness and redemption and forever into each other.

Tonight, though, the wind has picked up, and they stick to the shelter of the houses instead of the wide open beach. They weave through the streets, and Sara wrestles a couple discarded chicken bones out of a very disgruntled Rocket’s mouth. Sara begins to suspect that Rocket is conspiring with the neighborhood’s raccoon population to have every bone in the trash make its way onto the sidewalk for her perusal.

Suddenly, a shout cracks through the night, first inarticulate then clearer - “No! Stop!”

Sara’s instincts kick in, and she hurries in the direction, turning the corner to see a man grabbing at a struggling woman a few houses down. She sizes the assailant up: she can take him, and she has the gun if it comes to that. She freezes, though. She’s not the Canary anymore, and tearing apart this creep would bring more attention than Nyssa would want her to risk. The gun, too, would probably get the police involved. The _safest_ course would be to keep walking, not involve herself.

The woman screams again, and Sara feels agonizingly torn in two.

Rocket, however, has no such moral quandary and she forces Sara’s hand. The dog begins the most vicious barking she’s ever heard from her and lunges forward so quickly that the leash escapes even Sara’s quick reflexes. The tiny ball of fury launches herself towards the scuffle and her ferocity seems to startle even the assailant, who drops his grip on the woman and backs up, giving the woman enough room to run towards Sara. Rocket, however, is not appeased, continuing her enraged snarling and barking just feet from the man, never still enough for him to realize he could honestly just kick her out of the way.

He seems to have decided he’s attracted too much attention now, people coming to their doors to see what the commotion is about, and he hops back in his car. Sara makes a quick mental note of the license plate before stopping and calling Rocket to her.

“Rocket, come! Enough! Come!”

Rooted to the spot and still spitting fire towards the car speeding away, Rocket needs her a little closer before she breaks her concentration and quiets. In an instant, she’s back to her usual teeny doofus self. Sara picks her up and hugs her tight, feeling Rocket’s heart beat out a hurried rhythm of excitement.

“Good job, baby girl,” she whispers, a laugh in her voice. She thinks she might have inadvertently adopted a vigilante dog. “Should’ve named you Canary.”

Or Arrow, she notes with amusement, thinking of Rocket’s propensity to bounce off her couch, table, chairs, coffee table, and even Sara herself, parkour-style.

After calming the woman down, typing the plate number into her phone, and insisting she call the police, Sara tries to take her leave, citing her need to get Rocket home.

“Thank you,” the woman gushes.

“Hey, don’t thank me. Thank her,” Sara says, declining her chin towards the pup in her arms. Rocket accepts the grateful pets and rubs magnanimously. “I was just walking her.”

There are more people approaching now, and Sara needs to go to maintain her anonymity. Citing the temperature and Rocket’s small size, she gets away in time.

When they get home, Rocket gets _several_ extra treats, and Sara beats the ever (non) living shit out of her training dummy. She’s thankful Rocket saved the situation with her Napoleonic aggression, giving the best possible outcome for all involved, but she’s angry that she froze, that she almost left that woman to whatever was going to happen next.

What good is all the training she has, all the blood and tears - innocent and otherwise - that were the price of her skill, if she can’t at least use it to protect people. She wanted to teach that man a lesson he’d never forget, about what it meant to be helpless in the face of superior force. If this darkness in her can’t be channeled into the greater good, what does that make her? She is a killer, she’s embraced that, but she wants to at least put that violence to good use. But to do so now would risk everything.

They’ve saved her only to exile her far from everything and everyone she loves, hands tied behind her back with just enough freedom to twiddle her thumbs.  
  
***  
  
The address Felicity gave her is another crappy anonymous hotel a three hour drive from Coast City. She knocks on the designated door at the designated time, and Nyssa answers the door in some plain clothes Sara is very appreciative of.

The rain pounds on the roof of this cheap roadside motel

“You brought the dog?” Nyssa asks archly.

“Yes! What else was I supposed to do with her?” Sara exclaims, pulling the pup closer to her chest. “It’s not like I am making friends, and I can’t leave her with just anyone.”

Nyssa sighs, looking the pair over.

“I’ve been replaced.”

“Well, someone has to keep me warm at night.”

Nyssa cocks her head and allows: “She is much better than the last.”

Sara rolls her eyes and kisses Nyssa’s cheek. “I should probably defend Ollie’s honor or something, but Rocket is pretty great.”

At their close proximity, Rocket takes the opportunity to lean over and give Nyssa’s cheek a kiss of her own. Sara lets out a loud laugh, the kind no one else could ever get away with at Nyssa al-Ghul’s expense.

“Aw, see, Rocket likes you!”

Nyssa sighs, and Sara steps into the room, pressing her lips to Nyssa’s which are warm after the cold, icy rain of the afternoon. Rocket is squished between them and contentedly wiggly.

“Hi,” Sara smiles against her lips. “Miss me?”

Nyssa growls out her answer. Sara laughs and lets herself be pulled tight against Nyssa. She relaxes at the familiar way they fit together, hip to hip, thigh to thigh. She tangles her hand into Nyssa’s hair and breathes deeply. She laughs again as a disgruntled Rocket is attempting to insert herself between their feet.

Rocket eventually gives up on the endeavor, accepting this isn’t her time. She contents herself chewing the rubber bone Sara drops from her pocket and makes a nest from Sara’s discarded clothes.

Later, on thin, sweat-slicked sheets, Nyssa indulgently rolls her eyes when Sara beckons the dog onto the bed. Head on Nyssa’s shoulder and hands absently stroking Rocket’s ears, Sara tells of Rocket’s adventure in vigilantism. Nyssa maybe even looks at the dog with more respect. But then, Sara recounts her fears and frustrations of the night before, and Nyssa grows more serious.

She shifts and takes Sara’s face in her hands.

“You are not darkness. You are light,” Nyssa insists, trying hard to get through. “Your light shines bright enough to overwhelm even the darkness of my soul.”

Sara’s eyes prick with tears at the heady mix of love, pride, and devotion in Nyssa’s eyes.

“There is darkness in you, Sara, but it has not consumed you. It has made you stronger. I watched it happen. It has made your love and your light more pure and more true.” She pauses, her own eyes wet. “If you believe yourself a monster, what do you think of me?”

“Nyssa,” Sara breathes.

“I know that isn’t what you think of me, so don’t you dare think it of yourself. We serve a different set of laws than others, but there is as much justice and necessity in what we do as there is cruelty.”

Sara kisses her, soft but insistent, to ground herself, falls into this wise, wonderful woman who chose to love her at whatever cost.

“You’re not a monster,” she whispers against her cheek.

“I am my father’s daughter. But that you can love me tells me I have done something right.” Nyssa sets her forehead against Sara’s. “This is not forever. My Yellow Bird will not be caged for the rest of her days. Once I gather more information about who else was involved, I will remove the Demon’s Head, and the League will be ours to command as we wish.”

“He is your father,” Sara says, anguished.

“He attempted to take you from me,” Nyssa says forcefully. “It is unforgivable. To me, and the laws of the League. You are my Beloved.”

So maybe Sara stretched the truth when she told Felicity they weren’t married, but she didn’t know how to explain the League laws that had bound their souls together for years now. It isn’t marriage, but it is sacrosanct to the League. And it had kept her alive when she fled. Even as a traitor, members had hesitated to kill another’s Beloved, especially the Heir to the Demon’s.

“Then soon, please, Nyssa. Because my mind and I are dangerous when left alone together.”

Nyssa nods and kisses her softly.

When she pulls away, Sara realizes that Rocket has crept up, fox-crawl-style, right between them, eyes contentedly closed, and Nyssa’s hand scratching at her hip. Sara releases a sigh as the seriousness dissipates.

“You like her,” she teases, looking down to Rocket.

“I have realized that she is young, her lifespan is long, and you are attached.”

Sara laughs.

“So you’re saying we’re a family?”

Nyssa groans but doesn’t stop scratching Rocket.

“I’m saying that since she is here to stay, we must get along.”

“It’s okay, Rocket. Mama loves you. She just has trouble saying it.”

Nyssa sighs and pinches her hip.

“Hey, she was your idea.”

“I am aware.”  
  
***  
  
Nanda Parbat is a place of intrigue and deception, but it has always been Nyssa’s home. Now, though, she suspects enemies in every doorway, and her own father has betrayed her. Here in Nanda Parbat, Sara half a world away, her rage becomes stifling, and she cannot even direct it yet at he who deserved it.

The Demon’s Head summons her shortly after her arrival and she meets him in his study, the model, dutiful daughter.

“Father,” she says, briefly on her knee. He bids her rise with a flick of his wrist.

“How was your solitude?”

“Productive,” Nyssa answers.

“I understand you mourn, daughter, but these frequent disappearances have made some start to talk. I care little for their talk, but it is time to channel your grief into justice for Taer al-Asfer.”

“Yes, Father.”

“She was your Beloved. It is your duty to avenge her. And, despite her brief wavering, she was one of us. Our laws demand justice.”

Nyssa swallows her bile at just what that justice is, how easily he lies to her. He who raised her on a promise of absolute truth.

“And justice we shall have.”

  
***

tbc


	4. Chapter 4

Laurel’s sporting another big bruise, Captain Lance looks hollow when she sees him, Oliver sulks around even more than usual, and Felicity has to pretend she has absolutely no idea who put those arrows in Sara. (Nyssa. It was Nyssa. Which is like a level of trust that Felicity can’t begin to fathom, and she considers herself pretty trusting.)

On top of that, there is Oliver and his back and forth bullshit of “I love you but I can’t” and Ray Palmer and his big beefy muscles and puppy dog eyes and heroic death wish. She should just run away and live with Sara and Rocket in Coast City. Yep, definitely the most mature option. 

She knows why she’s keeping this awful, awful secret while everyone around her mourns. She believes in keeping it, and not just ‘cause she sort of believes Nyssa’s threat to kill anyone she tells. (Just sort of. Sara would probably stop her, and the Heir to the Demon is surprisingly whipped.) But it sucks.

A lot.

Because on top of all the guilt, she has to pretend that she is totally stumped on this mystery. And technically, she has destroyed evidence (Nyssa’s DNA was all over those arrows) and that doesn’t feel good either.

 _And_ she’s pretty sick and tired of manufacturing leads to keep everyone from falling into despair.

To top it all off, Malcolm Merlyn is alive and annoying, and Oliver is actually listening to him about something because somehow his DNA link to Thea trumps Robert Queen’s twelve-plus years of actual fatherhood and Merlyn’s, y’know, mass murder. And somehow all this justifies protecting Merlyn from a few League assassins sent for him.

“What if he killed Sara?”

Roy asks a good question, if Felicity didn’t already know who (didn’t) kill Sara, and he is even scarier than Malcolm Merlyn.

“If we let the League capture him, they will find out that Thea is his daughter, and they will kill her.”

  
Felicity thinks she could probably fix this with a call to Nyssa about sins of fathers and such, but her head is pounding and all this is just _too much_. Ray is blowing up her phone, too, and she announces:

“I’m leaving. For my other job. Where we don’t consider protecting mass murderers who happen to be persons of interest in the death of a _family member_.”

“Felicity,” Oliver says, all sad and hot and frustrating because _really?!_

“I _don’t know_ if Merlyn killed Sara.” He didn’t. “But even if he didn’t, I don’t know why protecting Thea involves protecting him. I’m not a fan of killing, but standing between two bad guys trying to take each other out seems like a waste of energy. Goodbye.”  
  
***  
  
Sara takes Rocket for one last walk. This one has no vigilantism but still lots of chicken bone stealing. She feels bad to leave her, as she always does, so she gives her the last few scraps of crust from the pizza she had for dinner. Then she heads into work in her five-year-old, nondescript sedan, like any other twenty-something bartender in suburban Coast City. She longs for her bike, but it’s too Canary, too real, and she’s pretending she actually fits into this weirdly ordinary life that probably _would_ have been hers, if things had gone differently.

She gets into work and greets Blake, her fellow bartender for the night. They make small talk for a bit, and Sara has to pretend she is excited that the Starling City Rockets fell to the Coast City Seagulls in the playoffs a few weeks ago. (She is decidedly _not_ , and makes a note to get a Gulls shirt and let Rocket pee on it later.) 

She misses Nyssa.

And, now that she’s healed and full of energy, she really misses punching people while she wastes away in her boring, boring little life.  
  
  
***  
  
Nyssa’s agents in Starling report to her that Oliver Queen is hampering their attempts to apprehend Al Saher (Sara’s principal mission in Starling to begin with, fallen by the wayside until now), and she adds it to the list of things she hates about Oliver Queen. It’s a long list, and less than half is jealousy-based.

She knows that her father wants her to be hunting Merlyn personally and will try to frame The Traitor for Sara’s (attempted) murder. Such a ruse will be unsuccessful, though, and she has been quietly, subtly counting those she believes will support her in the coup to come. There are only one or two of any rank whose loyalties she has yet to ascertain and when she does… Her plan can form, and justice will be hers.  
  
***  
  
She is back in her father’s study for a report on Al Saher, and mostly she concentrates on swallowing all of her rage. Sara always does tut at her about her temper.

“I will go to Starling tomorrow to deal with Oliver Queen and Malcolm Merlyn personally,” she says before he can order it.

“Good. He does seem a likely candidate for Taer al-Sahfer’s murderer, given her mission. Please refrain from killing him until you have him here. He has many sins to atone for, and we shall make him pay together.”

“Yes, Father.”

There is quiet while he pours them a thick, smoky tea.

“It is a pity she is not here.”

Nyssa stiffens, and her chest tightens.

“Given her over-attachment to Starling City, your Beloved would have enjoyed this hunt, I believe. Taking down Al Saher. And she would have been much help with the recalcitrant Mr. Queen.”

Her blood boils at his casual reference to Sara. How dare he.

“She was trouble, yes, but there was a certain audacious style to her.” He chuckles. He actually chuckles. “Perhaps we both allowed ourselves too much affection for that girl.”

“Is that why you had her murdered, Father?”

Time stands still as Nyssa realizes she spoke those words aloud. She cannot turn back though, and she must act quickly.

“I-“

She throws her boiling tea in his face, momentarily disorienting him, and goes for his throat, hands tightening as she slams him against an empty wooden table.

“Why did you take her from me?” she growls.

“It wasn’t me,” her father hisses, clawing at her fingers. “I did not touch your Yellow Bird.”

“You did! You ordered her dead. _Your_ man put three arrows through her,” Nyssa growls. “He told me himself.” 

“No. I told you before that she returned to us on _your_ reputation. Your fates were linked,” Ra’s rasps.  “If I had moved against Taer al-Asfer, you would be dead, as well.”

Nyssa falters, and Ra’s pulls the hands from his throat, sending Nyssa stumbling back. 

“I can always make another heir,” he says, straightening up, squaring his shoulders, his presence once again filling the room even though his voice is raw from the trauma. He does not, however, move towards the sword at his belt, nor raise a hand to her. “She was your weakness and yet, I allowed it. If she made you vulnerable again, I would have no use for either of you. I am truly sorry for your loss, daughter, but your revenge is misplaced. I mourn with you; Taer al-Asfer was family. If you find the man who killed her, I shall join you in ending him.”

Nyssa eyes him warily.

She has put her hands on the Head of the Demon. She cannot believe even his heir will be allowed to walk away from that. 

“And what shall my punishment be?”

Ra’s looks her over, and her stomach twists.

“If I had in fact killed your Taer al-Asfer, would you have followed through on your assassination attempt?”

Honesty has always been the best policy before her father; he can always detect a lie.

“Yes.”

Ra’s nods. “Good. That ruthlessness is necessary for what I ask of you. If I find those who murdered your Yellow Bird before you do, I shall deliver them to you.”

There is a note of dismissal in his voice, and Nyssa bows to take her leave.

“Thank you, Father.”

“Nyssa,” he calls when she is steps from the door. She turns to face him, shoulders square. “If you move against me again, move quickly and strike true, for there will be no further forgiveness.”

“Yes, Father.”

Nyssa turns heel and exits, knowing only her father’s own definition of love has saved her today. Assuming she believes him (and she does, his logic is as ever impeccable and an untruth has never passed between them), there is something larger at work here. Someone went to great lengths to set father and daughter at odds, to sow distrust and divide the League. And Sara’s (would-be) murderer had sworn even as she bled him dry that her father had given the order. Her father knows it now, too. Knows _someone_ was using Nyssa to move against him. 

They’re no closer to freeing Sara from her exile. Her father may not be a threat any longer, but a war is brewing, and Sara must remain safely hidden away. Safely thousands of miles from her.  
  
***  
  
Felicity takes a train and three cabs before getting to the bar, and she makes small talk with a few patrons for half an hour, just so there’s no suspicion when she leans over the bar to strike up a conversation with the bartender.

“He’s… an asshole.” She’s already two drinks in. 

“I’d ask who we’re talking about, but I think I can guess,” the bartender answers.

“Yep. And the other one, too.”

“Hey you,” Sara smiles warmly, softly, briefly, then slips back into character. “What can I get you?”

“Oh, so many things,” Felicity sighs. “But vodka and soda would be a nice start.”

“You’ve got it.”  
  
***  
  
Felicity has two more drinks in her when Sara bundles her into the car and takes her back to her house.

“Rocket!” Felicity squeals as the dog greets them at the door. She squats down on shaky legs to get on Rocket’s level and lets the exuberant little one shower her face with kisses as she coos at her. “Yes, I missed you, yes I did, yes I did.”

“She missed you, too,” Sara chuckles, walking past the two to hang up her and Felicity’s coats. 

“Oh! I brought you treats!” Felicity feels around as if looking for her jacket pocket. 

“I’ve got it,” Sara saves her, pulling a handful of the treats in question from Felicity’s coat. 

“Right!” 

“Why don’t you two take it into the couch and get comfy? I’ll make tea.”

“No! Wine!” Felicity objects. “C’mon, Rocky Rocket-dog.”

“You’ve had enough.”

“Is that your professional opinion?”

“Yes, in fact,” Sara laughs.

Felicity huffs. “Good thing you’re a professional assassin, not a bartender, then. One glass, that’s it. Pleeeease.”

Sara sighs. She could use one or two herself.

“Fine. One, Felicity.”

“You got it,” Felicity grins sloppily, dropping onto the couch and patting her lap for the pup to join her. Rocket turns her eyes back to Sara, who motions her towards Felicity.

“Go on. I’ll be right there.”

She disappears into the kitchen and hears Rocket hop up onto the couch and Felicity continue to talk to her about the annoyance with the men in her life.

Sara comes back with a glass of wine for each of them and a large cup of water for Felicity. She shoos Rocket out the door to do her business and plops down beside Felicity.

“One water for every wine, and another before bed.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Felicity salutes sloppily.

They cuddle together with Rocket and talk for another hour. Sara is tired, but she is starved for human interaction and contact. They talk about Ray and Oliver and sometimes Baby Sara. Felicity demands to know The Story of her and Nyssa, insisting it _must_ be romantic. Sara’s not sure about that, but tells it anyway, because drunk Felicity is _even_ _more_ stubborn than sober Felicity. It seems to meet with Felicity’s approval.

“It’s a shame you two are perfect for each other,” Felicity sighs. “Stealing you and running away would solve so many problems.”

Sara grins fondly. “Maybe. But we both know as soon as Oliver gets his head out of his ass, you’ll be great together. And you should probably just go for it with super suit guy until then.”

"Yeah, but... In another life," Felicity says tipsily, placing a finger lightly on Sara's nose, "I could be very happy with you."

"Yeah, we could be pretty happy," Sara agrees.

Felicity leans over and presses a messy kiss to Sara's cheek.  "I think... I have a type."

Sara laughs and puts an arm around Felicity's shoulder, kissing the top of her head.

"I think you do.”

“How about this? We can be each other’s back up plans. If our stupid heros get themselves killed of, then you and me, okay?”

“Best. back-up plan. ever,” Felicity yawns.

“Agreed. Now, I’m going to bed. You okay here?”

“Mhm,” Felicity says, lying down in a flop. “S’comfy. Plus, your hot, hot, scary girlfriend would murder me if she happened to show up and find me in your bed.”

Sara chuckles and tucks Felicity under the fleecy throw blanket, kissing her forehead.

“Goodnight, Felicity.”  
  
***  
  
Sara leaps from bed when the front door slams open, but Rocket is perturbed and startled but _not_ barking, so it’s _probably_ not an emergency. Maybe just Felicity doing hungover, klutzy things. Without bothering to pull on anything over her tank top and flannel pants, Rocket running ahead of her, she hurries to the living room to find a very hungover Felicity and a wild-eyed Nyssa staring, shocked, at each other. Rocket whimpers in excitement as she jumps at Nyssa’s knees.

“Good morning?” Sara asks, voice rough from lack of sleep.

“I confronted my father.”

Sara’s stomach drops, and she crosses quickly to Nyssa’s side. There’s panic lingering under Nyssa’s skin, but she looks… different, than what Sara expected in this moment.

“It wasn’t him. He didn’t give the order.”

Sara freezes before her hand completes the task of taking Nyssa’s, and she meets her eyes, questioning.

“I did not kill him.”

Even though this only raises a thousand more questions, Sara lets herself relax a fraction, muttering a “Rocket, down” as she takes Nyssa’s hand.

“Tell me everything.”  
  
***  
  
“So this means Sara can go home, right?” Felicity asks, now sitting up on the couch, Nyssa on the other end, Sara pacing. Felicity is alternating between coffee and water and praying. Rocket lays on the couch, too, taking up more than her size would suggest is fair.

Sara shares a look with Nyssa.

“No,” Nyssa says firmly, and Sara extinguishes what little hope she allows herself. “I… failed to tell my father that she lives.”

“Oh,” Felicity says. “Why?”

“I am not ready to reveal the fact that she lives to whoever tried to pit me against my father. And I cannot be sure that any room in Nanda Parbat is secure.”

“You have to tell him. You’ve never lied to him before,” Sara insists.

Nyssa nodded. “I will.”

“So who do you think is behind this? When you killed Defdaa’a, he swore it was Ra’s, right?” Sara asks.

“He did,” Nyssa confirms. “I have begun to think of possible-“

“Merlyn,” Felicity interrupts, pinching her brow. “It’s Merlyn. A civil war is the only way to get him off your radar. And Oliver is protecting him.”

Sara stops pacing, and she and Nyssa look first to each other, then Felicity. 

“I cannot believe that Al Saher would have friends enough in the League to pull off such a move,” Nyssa doubts.

Sara absently rubs at the highest of the new scars on her chest.

“He’s got a ton of money and a stupid snake mouth. And he’s desperate,” Felicity points out. 

“Why the hell is Ollie protecting _Malcolm Merlyn_?”

“He’s Thea’s biological father,” Felicity says, then claps a hand over her mouth, looking to Nyssa. “Please don’t kill Thea.”

“I’ll try my best,” Nyssa nods, while Sara gapes.

“He _what_?!”

“Yeah.”

“Does Oliver suspect he might have killed me?”

“Maybe… But you’re not really dead!” 

“He doesn’t know that!”

“Yeah, it’s screwed up.”

“I’m gonna kill him.”

“Please don’t,” Felicity grimaces. “So I can just tell everyone now and we can-“

“No,” Nyssa repeats firmly. “We do not yet have proof that Merlyn ordered Sara’s death, even though she was in Starling tracking him.”

“You were what?” It’s Felicity’s turn for shock. 

“He’s an enemy of the League, and we’d heard rumors of his survival. Even now, Oliver Queen cannot hide him from us forever. Soon we shall have him and know for sure if he is yet again a traitor.”

“And I can’t tell everyone because?”

“Because your leader harbors Malcolm Merlyn, who is traitorous and slippery, and possibly even more dangerous than we feared. You will tell no one until Sara or I command it.”  
Felicity huffs and picks up a whiny Rocket. “Less noise, Rocket dog. Okay, I get it. We can only trust ourselves. But what next?”

“I go to Starling for Al Saher, you return to Starling before your absence is questioned, and Sara eats something with a vegetable component.”

“Seriously?! A time like this and all you can think to do is criticize my eating choices?”

Felicity laughs, and Nyssa gestures to the empty pizza box on the coffee table.

“Pizza has vegetables!” Sara objects.

Nyssa arches an eyebrow.

“Fine. Salad for lunch or something,” Sara grumbles.

“I’m gonna get ready to go. Can I use your shower?” Felicity asks, standing and groaning. Rocket, disturbed from her place, jumps onto Nyssa’s lap. 

“Sure. Clean towel is in the closet in the hall. Use my shampoo or whatever.”

“Thanks,” Felicity smiles. As she heads to the bathroom, Sara takes her place on the couch.

“Are you sure you can’t stay?” she asks Nyssa softly.

“My father already expects me in Starling.”

“Are you okay?” Sara asks, a hand to Nyssa’s cheek. Nyssa closes her eyes at the contact.

“I nearly killed him. I had my hands at his throat. And he spared my life.” 

“He loves you,” Sara says softly.

“And I believed he betrayed me, without thought. My fear for you, my anger, it clouded everything.”

“Well, he’s never been my biggest fan, so it’s not a stretch.”

“Quite the contrary. He spoke of his fondness for you. It is why I attacked him. And he has spared your life more than any other. He claimed you as family.”

“That’s… nice of him?” Sara is honestly surprised by the revelation and tries not to think about it too much.

Nyssa nods. “Now I shall go retrieve Merlyn from your _boyfriend_ -“

“Stop,” Sara groans. 

“And take him to Nanda Parbat for interrogation. If he admits his plot, this will be over soon and you can be free of this place.”

“And then what?”

Nyssa takes Sara’s hand and kisses her knuckles. “Whatever you desire, habibti.”  
  
***

tbc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot twist? Also: I do not subscribe to much of Arrow-canon Ra's al Ghul at all, because him hating Sara from the beginning makes no sense, and is also a really boring, uninteresting area to explore. So I'm playing with a more complicated relationship between Nyssa's father and the Yellow Bird who laughed at his display of power.


	5. Chapter 5

“You have been summoned. My father wishes to speak with you personally at this address,” Nyssa says, she thinks politely.  She stands in the Arrow basement, having casually let herself in. She holds out a scrap of paper, the address in question printed on it. She’d scoured the city herself for Merlyn, and when she came up empty, her father had made a decision.

“You went and told your father on me?” Oliver snits.

Nyssa sighs. 

“Malcolm Merlyn is ours to deal with as we see fit,” she says, keeping the paper extended. Oliver stares at it defiantly until Felicity steps forward and takes it with a slight, apologetic smile. “Eight o’clock. Do not be late.”

“And if I don’t come?”

Nyssa lets her face grow hard. “You do not wish to find out. The League’s methods of finding justice are old and would offend your squeamish principles. This is a polite invitation: do not test our manners.”

She turns her back and walks away before he can whine some more. What on earth had Sara ever seen in that imbecile?  
  
***  
  
The bouncers have finally cleared the place out. It took them longer than it would’ve taken her, but there were probably fewer injuries, too. She blinks against the now-bright overhead lights as she wipes down the bar and does her best to unclench the knot of worry in her gut.

Nyssa is a big girl. She can take care of herself. And now that father and daughter are (probably) back on the same side, it’s everyone else that should be afraid.

Still, they deceived Ra’s al-Ghul and did not kill him. He must understand the implications there that - 

“Was it Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell?”

“What?”

“Why you didn’t serve. Why you went straight to defense contract work,” Blake says matter-of-factly.

“Um, no. Why would you-?”

“Oh, I don’t mean to pry. Or assume. It’s just that cute blonde comes in here sometimes and you seemed… close.”

Sara shakes her head, scaring away her deadly distraction. If it had been an attack and not a weirdly personal question, she would have…

Anyway, she didn’t think anyone was actually noticing her enough to know that Felicity had stopped by a few times. She’ll have to tell her she can’t do that anymore. 

She searches her mind for a good answer for why she didn’t serve in the army like most people with the background her cover has.

“No, um. I haven’t always been a great… listener.” She offers a smile. “Plus the money was better for the private contractors, and they didn’t have such strict rules. Still, I didn’t last that long, obviously. Just a few years.”

She hopes he doesn’t ask more. She’s been feeling so invisible lately that she’s really been neglecting her cover story.

“Ah, okay. I probably wouldn’t have lasted all that long. It pisses me off when even Ronnie gives us an order, and he’s our boss,” Blake grins. “Authority issues is what they always wrote on my report cards.”

They return to a companionable silence until Sara is suddenly compelled to say:

“I am, by the way. Gay. Or bi, actually. That’s what you were asking, right? But the blonde’s just a friend. I’ve got a long distance thing going on.”

“Oh. Cool,” Blake shrugs. “Hey. Do you think you could cover my shift Thursday? I’ve got a date.”

“Sure,” Sara answers easily. If she’s going to be constantly worrying about Nyssa, she might as well get paid for the time.  
  
***  
  
Oliver shows up on time, a miracle unto itself, and stands before them with his stupid, defiant stance. 

“Kneel before the Demon’s Head,” Sar'ab says.

“ _Maseo_?”

“Sar'ab,” the assassin, one of her better lieutenants, corrects. “Maseo is no more.”

Oliver blinks in disbelief, and Nyssa reminds herself to debrief Sar'ab later on his association with Oliver Queen.

“Kneel, Oliver,” Nyssa repeats Sar'ab’s order.

Oliver looks around at the heavily armed assassins surrounding them and takes a knee. 

“I was summoned?” he asks, sounding like a petulant schoolboy.

Her father lowers his hood.

“You have openly defied my wishes for quite some time, Mr. Queen. My patience is, however, at an end. The disrespect you have shown me and my daughter will no longer be tolerated. A highly honored member of my ranks was murdered in your city, and yet you claim you have no idea as to who is guilty of the crime. Further, a primary target in that investigation and an openly acknowledged traitor and murderer has been declared under your protection. That cannot stand. Deliver unto us Al Saher, immediately.”

“I don’t have Malcolm Merlyn. He left Starling City.”

“You let him escape,” Ra’s says flatly.

“Yes.”

“Then you will give us any and all information you have about Malcolm Merlyn’s whereabouts and we will let you live.”

“I don’t know anything.”

“Then why should we let you live?”

“Because _I’m_ the only one who tried to stop the Undertaking and _I’m_ the only one cleaning up his mess.”

Her father looks him over appraisingly again, a hint of a sneer on his lips.

“Very well, Oliver Queen. That service shall buy you a brief reprieve. It is to your benefit to hand over Al Saher when you next see him. If we have word he is in Starling City, we will come for him, and my daughter tells me you do not always agree with our methods.”

  
***  
  


When they returned to Nanda Parbat, she’d mentioned to her father that it had been quite some time since they scaled their favorite summit together, and he seemed to understand her meaning. Thirty-six hours later, they make camp on the side of a mountain he’s been taking her up solo since she was eight.

“I am presuming you brought me out here to discuss the plot undertaken against us both.”

Nyssa nods.

“We must trust only each other, now more than ever,” Ra’s expresses his approval.

Nyssa’s throat tightens, and she takes a deep breath.

“For there to be total trust, Father, I must confess one thing.”

Her father stiffens, perceptible only to Nyssa. She has spent her entire life watching him.

“And what, my child, is that?”

“Taer al-Asfer lives.”

It is the only time she has _ever_ seen shock flit across her father’s face, even for a moment.

“Someone warned me, incorrectly, that you ordered her death. I intervened, and we created the illusion of her murder.”

The clearing is dead silent except for the crackling fire. Finally, he speaks:

“And why should I not kill you both immediately? It is obvious your loyalty is to each other above me.”

Nyssa is ready for that.

“Because I was protecting what I love, and if you had killed her, it would have been a violation of the laws you raised me to believe were sacred.”

“And may I not violate my own laws?”

“No.”

Ra’s stares at her, his eyes so measuring and virtually unreadable.  Nyssa will fight him if he tries to kill her, something she would never have believed before Sara.

“You will tell me where she is, and she will swear her fealty again. At the next mere suggestion of disloyalty, you will both be summarily executed. My affection for you is not infinite and has bought both of you more than you deserve.”

“Yes, Father.”

“She must remain hidden. She’s an asset in the war. Whoever ordered her death presumably believes their attempt was successful.”

“Yes, Father.”

He looks at her again, eyes maybe even growing soft. He puts a hand on her shoulder.

“You are my Heir. The tasks I ask of you require ruthlessness and cunning, quick-thinking and deception. While it pains me that such was carried out against me, that you chose to defy me to save her, the task itself is quite impressive, daughter. To have kept not only the fact that she lived but her actual location from me gives me pride. Pride, however, will not save you if either of you move against me again.”

“Thank you, Father. I cannot take full credit. It was equally her plan.”

“Taer al-Asfer may yet prove a worthy partner for the Heir to the Demon.”  
  
***  
  
_I’m alive_ , the text says. _I am safe. He knows._

Sara holds the phone against her chest, regulating her breathing. Good news, mostly, but she knows there will be a price to pay for so much of Ra’s’s forgiveness.

Rocket scratches at her knee, a bad habit all the dog training blogs tell her she should be discouraging. Rocket’s so small, though, that it’s more helpful than annoying. She just has to lean, not squat, to pat her cute little head.

“Hey you. What do ya think? Meatball subs from Serrano’s tonight?”  
  


***

  
It has been almost six weeks since she last held Nyssa, and it was for far too short a time, panic and urgency in the air and Felicity as unintentional chaperone. There are messages, some short, some long, and one phone call where Sara forced herself not to cry at the sound of Nyssa’s voice.

They’ve spent plenty of time apart in their life together. Hell, they were apart for the first three months of this ordeal and it hurt, but it didn’t feel like this. Somehow the unknown, Merlyn or someone like him, out there and unaccounted for, having fooled Nyssa once, it scares her more. More than sending Nyssa into the lion’s den to slaughter the lion himself.

Or maybe the waiting, the uselessness, is starting to get to her. Even more than before. She’s started seeing shadows, but Rocket doesn’t notice them, so they’re not really there. Rocket can spot a squirrel behind a tree at a hundred paces. There has been one mouse in this house this winter. Neither she nor Rocket slept for the eighteen hours it took to corner the tiny thing and release it down at the park. Rocket had been hyperaware of it at all times. If anything else living were in this house, Rocket would know.

The fact that it’s Christmas Eve isn’t helping the aching loneliness, a gnawing emptiness only Rocket has saved her from falling into completely. Nyssa had promised to do her best to be here for Christmas Day; she never really celebrated before Sara, but she knows how much it means to her Beloved. (“It is likely respectful to celebrate, besides. From one child of a deity to another,” she had teased during their second Christmas. Sara had thrown popcorn at her for being such a brat, and then they made love under tacky colored lights that seemed terribly out of place in the hallowed halls of Nanda Parbat.)  
Sara doesn’t think Nyssa’ll make it, not that she blames her with everything going on.

She’s been trying to keep up the spirit, even though it makes her miss her family even more. She’s watched every possible holiday movie that’s played on tv, and she even bought a little tree and hung three stockings - one for her, one for Nyssa, and one for Rocket. She bought Rocket plenty of stupid presents, and they played all morning, after eating Santa’s cookies for breakfast. Rocket’s warm, snuggly, enthusiastic self gets her through the day without wallowing in self-pity, but as with every night, she falls asleep with thoughts of the worst happening to her Beloved floating behind her eyelids. 

  
***

  
The first time that Nyssa successfully sneaked into the house without Rocket raising the alarm, she was not pleased. The tiny dog's most redeeming quality had been her alerts, considering she added little to the offense side of protecting Sara. After watching Rocket announce the presence of nearly every other living being larger than a grasshopper, and coming into the house noisily a few times, Nyssa realized something: Rocket doesn't bark at her because Rocket believes Nyssa belongs there. The acceptance by Sara's canine companion pleases her more than it should.

Tonight, 11:00PM, December 25, Nyssa slips into the house and on into the bedroom. Sara is asleep. Rocket is momentarily awake, sparing her a look and a yawn before curling back to sleep. Nyssa leaves a small, neatly wrapped package by Sara's outstretched hand, kisses her temple, and leaves again for the living room. Her internal clock will not let her sleep right now.

  
***  
  


Sara wakes to the smell of eggs and the strange lack of a tiny body tucked into her belly.

She starts when she hears a voice, but then immediately lets the tension drain when she recognizes who it is and what they are saying.

“No. Do not look at me like that. I have already fed you. It is not my fault you ate it so quickly.”

Sara stretches, her hand immediately hitting a box. She smiles. The edges of the green paper are precisely folded and a red bow is tied neatly. She pulls at the ribbon and tears the paper recklessly, which Nyssa will sigh over later, and pulls the top off the little box.

Sara peers into the box and grins widely at what she finds. There are two things in the box: a delicate pendant on a strong chain, a beautifully crafted gold canary in flight, and a silver dog tag, one side pressed with the same symbol, the other with Sarookh, the Arabic word for Rocket.

“For some day soon, when you do not need to hide. She is a part of your vigilante team, is she not?”

Nyssa stands in the doorway, barefoot in a t-shirt and leggings, like the old cliché: a sight for sore eyes. 

“Well, what about you? Are _you_ Team Canary?”

Nyssa pulls down the neck of her shirt and reveals a matching necklace.

“Forever, Taer al-Asfer.”

Sara leaps from the bed, and Nyssa gamely catches her, hands under her thighs.

“I believe the traditional words are: ‘Merry Christmas’.”

“You’re late.”

“I apol-“

Sara cuts her off with a searing kiss. She lets her fingers scrape lightly through Nyssa’s hair, thumbs tracing her cheekbones, reveling in the miracle of Nyssa being here and whole. The kiss slowly wanes, and Sara rests her forehead against Nyssa’s.

“I missed you.”

“I gathered.”

“Thank you for my presents.”

“You’re very welcome. I made omelets. Do you think you’re capable of walking to the kitchen yourself?”

Sara makes a face and pinches Nyssa’s earlobe lightly. Still, she presses a kiss to Nyssa’s forehead and drops to her feet.

“I think I can manage.”

“Don’t forget to brush your teeth, habibti.” Nyssa wrinkles her nose adorably, and Sara, for not the first time, wonders if anyone else in the world has ever seen the Heir to the Demon this _cute_. 

Rocket attacks her right outside the bedroom door, paws insistent at her knee and tail a million miles an hour.

“Hey, don’t act happy to see me, traitor. You ditched me for her!” 

  
***

  
A few hours and _A Muppet Christmas Carol_ later (“I was saving it for you!”), the three of them are snuggled on the couch. 

“Do you think Ra’s will ever really trust me again?”

Nyssa’s hand stills in the ends of her hair.      “I believe he wishes to.”

“And what’s the price going to be for that?” Sara asks matter-of-factly.

“I don’t know.”

“And do you two have any idea when I can get out of here? I miss you. And the rest of my family.”

Nyssa shakes her head, and Sara can feel it if not see it. 

“Merlyn has disappeared, and since he is only the prime suspect and not your confirmed murderer-“

“ _Attempted_ murderer,” Sara counters.

“Thankfully. There could be yet another traitor in our midst, in addition to Al Saher. Certainly someone convinced Defdaa’a the orders came from my father, so whoever has betrayed us is powerful. Too powerful to take lightly. You are safest living here.”

“This isn’t living, Nyssa.”

“I know.”

“Do you? I’m stuck in a holding pattern! Everyone I know and love is exposed and in danger, and I’m here. Trapped in an endless cycle of inane bar patrons and Rocket’s crap. No offense, Rocket.”

Rocket grunts at the apologetic pet on her head.

“Sara, I am doing my best - “

“I know, I know. I’m sorry. I’m just… losing my mind. Everyone else is out there living their lives, and except for you and Felicity, those are lives that no longer involve me because they think I’m dead. The longer this goes on…. Nyssa, I don’t know if they’ll forgive me.”

“You, habibti, are very easy to forgive.”

“I hope so.”

Nyssa stays for a full forty-eight hours, and it’s one magical upside to Ra’s al-Ghul knowing Sara is alive. But then she has to go, to live, while Rocket and Sara stay in Coast City, napping the days away and jumping at shadows, respectively.

  
***  
  


tbc


	6. Chapter 6

***  
  
“Captain Lance.”

He knows he’s already dead, but he brings the gun to bear as he turns to face his killer.

“I bring no harm, Captain,” the hooded figure says, her voice now familiar. Nyssa al-Ghul. He puts the pistol down. There’s no logic to it, but he finds that he trusts her now. If Sara, his darling Sara, loved her as much as he’d witnessed, there must be a reason. And she is a link to the girl too often, too soon taken from him. This is her second visit since the funeral. The first time had been with a couple million in cash, Sara’s, she said with pain, money his daughter made the Heir to the Demon swear to get to her family. This time she appears empty-handed. 

“How can I help you?” he asks sincerely. “I mean, I stop short of aiding in assassination, but-“

“I must ask for your trust. And your forgiveness.”

She flicks her wrist, Quentin feels the dart, and everything goes black.  
  
***  
  
Quentin wakes blindfolded and hands bound in what feels like the passenger seat of a moving car. 

“I’m trying really hard to like you, Nyssa. For Sara. But you’re making it very difficult.” 

“Trust, Captain. And forgiveness,” a voice from the driver’s side says.

“A dart, Nyssa. And a blindfold.”

“In good time.”

“Can I at least get out of the rope?”

“Do you promise not to lash out or attempt to leave the vehicle?”

“Sure.”

Something heavy hits his lap, and he feels cautiously before finding a dagger handle. He makes quick work of his bindings. 

“And the blindfold?”

“That is for everyone’s protection,” Nyssa says curtly. 

“Can you tell me where we’re going? Something about what we’re walking into?”

“It is better if you see for yourself.”

“I can’t see anything.”

“You are as impatient as the stories tell.”

Quentin relaxes a little.

“Sara’s stories?” 

“Indeed.”

“It’s worse, this time. Worse to know she’s actually gone. I thought it would be better, having closure, but… Do you miss her?”

It’s a dumb question. Nyssa and Sara were… lovers, for years, and Quentin has seen the pain in her eyes.

“Every day,” Nyssa still answers. 

“Yeah. She was something.”

The blindfold makes it worse, makes him play memories back before his eyes in vivid detail. 

Within ten minutes though, the car has slowed and finally, with a sharp turn, stopped.

“I must ask that you leave the blindfold on until we are inside. And that, no matter what, you never speak of what you see tonight to anyone. And, again, I pray forgiveness.”

Quentin accepts her hand to guide him from the car.  He strains to pick up anything he can with his other senses. He smells asphalt and… spaghetti? He hears… cars and crickets, a radio or tv blasting somewhere and - a dog? Barking. Close. Not too big by the sound of it, but pretty damn insistent. 

With a gloved hand at his elbow, Nyssa leads him onward, down what feels like a concrete path, then up three wooden steps. She pulls open a door, which has the distinctive creak of a screen door, and the barking gets louder. A heavier door opens.

“At least she continues to be a passable alarm system,” Nyssa says to someone else. 

The barking is right by them, bouncing all around them. 

Further off but moving towards them, another voice answers:

“Play tough all you like. I know you love Rocket.”

“Perhaps if we gave her a more dignified name,” Nyssa says. Then more gentle. “ _Habibti_ …”

“You _know_ why her name is-“

No. No, it can’t be.

“Sara?” he croaks, disbelieving.

“Dad?” the voice squeaks as the blindfold falls away.

There she is, in jeans and a sweater, face scrubbed clean and somehow, some way, _miraculously alive_.

“I- “ His world spins, and Quentin falls back against the door. Something small scurries away from his fast-moving feet, and he sees a tiny, rat-like dog take off towards Sara.

“Sara,” he breathes.

She takes a few steps towards him and then falls into his arms.

“Dad, I’m so sorry.”

He saw her body. Saw it dead in the Arrow's lair with three arrow wounds. Fatal ones. And now…

“I don’t understand,” he says, even as he holds her close. 

The barking has stopped, and Quentin sees, through bleary eyes, that the dog has been scooped up by Nyssa. 

“We fabricated Sara’s death following a threat made against her,” Nyssa says. “We had to move quickly, and it is best you know no more.”

“Again?” Quentin manages.

Sara pulls away, and he watches the guilt slide across her face.

“Nyssa, why?” she asks. “I thought-“

“It is a risk. But you cannot remain completely cut off from your family indefinitely. I have learned my lesson. Your father is trustworthy.”

Quentin brings his hands to his face and realizes he has been crying.

“Please don’t be mad,” Sara begs. “It’s all we had. This was the only option to keep me alive. And keep all of you safe.”

“I made you a promise,” Nyssa says seriously. “I am doing everything I can to keep it.”

She still looks fairly intimidating, even with a whimpering little dog under one arm.

“Dad, just come in. Sit down.” Sara is grabbing at his hands and pulling him forward. “We’ll tell you everything that we can. And maybe you can start to forgive me.”

“Forgiveness,” he says, looking to Nyssa, who nods. He clears his throat, allowing himself to be lead into the room. “Sara, there’s nothing to forgive: you’re _alive_. I just… This is a lot. It was… convincing.  I… I never thought I’d bury my daughter twice. And to find out…”

“I know, Dad, I’m so sorry,” Sara repeats. 

She leads him to a couch, and he starts to take in his surroundings. It’s small and quaint, a house of some sort, spartanly decorated but bearing trace evidence of homeyness.

Nyssa follows them after stooping to set down the dog, which immediately trots over to Sara.

“One question,” Quentin says, rubbing at his chin.

“Yeah?”

“What’s with the dog?”

Sara’s face splits into a wide, beaming smile, scooping up the dog and its comically large ears. He feels like he might cry again, just to see this smile.

“This is Rocket, our -“

“-Your -“

“-Dog,” Sara says, rolling her eyes at Nyssa’s interjection. “She keeps me company. Usually my only company.”

“Rocket, huh?”

Sara grins and shrugs.

“Well, wait ’til your sister hears you’ve got a dog.”

Sara’s grin falters, and Quentin sighs.

“I can’t tell them, huh?”

Sara shakes her head.

“This is cruel, Sara.”

“I know,” his daughter promises.

“Okay,” Quentin agrees. “If it keeps you alive.”

“I’ll attempt to find an acceptable meal,” Nyssa announces, headed towards the kitchen.

“It’s fine. I’ll just order pizza,” Sara argues.

“No, thank you. That _pizza boy_ is here quite enough,” Nyssa sniffs. “But I take that to mean the cupboard is bare. I brought some groceries, which I’ll retrieve from the trunk. You need _fresh_ food.”

“Serrano’s delivers salads,” Sara says cheekily.

“Serrano’s would deliver absolutely anything you asked,” Nyssa notes dryly, changing directions for the front of the house.

Rocket has settled down at Sara’s side, resting her long nose on her paws and fixing baleful brown eyes on her owner.

“That was… domestic.”

Sara waves it off. “She gets jealous.”

Quentin just stares at her, still processing. 

“This time I definitely didn’t think I’d see you again.”

“Well here I am,” Sara smiles softly. “Not going anywhere. Literally. I spend seventy-five percent of my life in this house.”

There’s something in that, pain and a little wildness, but she pushes on. “I’m so glad to see you’re okay. I was scared all of this would be too much.”

She puts a hand on his chest, and he takes that hand in his, squeezing tight.

“Hey. I’m tough.”

Sara laughs, and if all of this is a hallucination, or if he’s died and gone to heaven, he doesn’t care. He never wants it to end.

Nyssa comes back and makes a pretty amazing meal he can’t pronounce, and they all eat together. Nyssa is present and engaged, and he feels like he gets to know her a little better, but she mostly holds herself a little apart, quiet, giving him time with Sara. For that, he’s grateful.

Sara tells him silly stories about Rocket and anecdotes from all the places she and Nyssa have traveled (thankfully leaving out _why_ they were traveling). It’s getting late, but before he can even contemplate the awful idea of saying goodbye, Sara says:

“You should spend the night. It’s way too late to go back to Starling tonight.”

“Unless you will be missed in the morning, Captain…”

“No, no.”

“Then yes, you should stay,” Nyssa agrees.

“The couch is a little small, but comfy!” Sara grins.

“Isn’t this place a two bedroom?”

“Yeah, but I wasn’t expecting so many guests! I’ve only got the one bed.”

“So many guests?” Quentin asks.

Nyssa gives Sara a look, and Sara counters:

“C’mon. He can know.”

Nyssa sighs and nods. 

“Felicity knows. She helps with the whole hiding thing.”

“That girl sure knows a lot of secrets.”

“It’s her trustworthy face,” Sara teases.

Quentin nods. 

“I’d love to stay.”  
  
  
***  
  
When he wakes, disoriented,  he’s convinced it is all a cruel, cruel dream. 

But when he opens his eyes, he’s still in that tiny house, on a too-short couch. Weak winter sun’s coming through the windows, and the sounds of cooking come from the kitchen, along with soft voices and low chuckles. 

He blinks away the sleep from his vision and sees them. Sara’s at the stove, Nyssa pressed behind her, arms loose around her waist, and Sara leans back for a moment, head tilted against Nyssa’s shoulder, utterly relaxed. 

It’s an intimate moment he feels like he shouldn’t be intruding on, but he’s never seen them like this, quiet and gentle and peaceful. Before, it had all been drama and high stakes and pain when he saw them, and while he’d seen the bond between them even then, it’s so different like this.

It’s so _normal_. And in this life of Masks and assassins and bows and arrows he’s found himself in, he forgot what normal felt like. He can almost pretend he’s just visiting his daughter and her girlfriend and forget that daughter is supposed to be dead and that girlfriend goes by the title “Heir to the Demon”.

And then the dog has noticed he’s awake and comes darting out from between their legs, bounding towards him. Before he can react, ten pounds of fluff hits him in the chest and knocks him back, assaulting his face with her tongue.

“Rocket!” Sara’s wonderful, laughing voice comes to his aid, and the dog is gone as quickly as she came.

“Sorry, Dad. Good morning,” she grins, Rocket in her arms. She turns and calls over her shoulder. “Don’t burn those pancakes.”

“I’d never,” Nyssa replies. “They are the only thing you can properly cook.”

“And the only thing you can’t,” Sara says, turning back to him. “I should go check on them. Can you do coffee with your heart? I can do tea, too.”

“Tea sounds good. Two sugars.”

“Coming right up. Rocket, can you play nice if I put you down?”

Returned to the ground, Rocket approaches him more gently, obviously angling to be pet.

“You’ve got a lot in common with her,” he tells the little tan dog as he scratches behind her comical ears. “And apparently so do I, cause I’m talkin’ to you like a person.”

He stands up and stretches his old bones before turning to fold the sheets and blankets that made up his bed for the night. When he’s done, he sits back down and Rocket insinuates herself back into his lap.

“If she is bothering you, you may push her off. Sara spoils her.”

Nyssa is holding a mug of tea, and she still manages to exude power and lethal grace dressed in jeans and a plain shirt, hair tied back. She offers him the tea, which he gladly accepts.

“Sara tells me you are responsible for her skill at pancakes.”

Small talk. The Heir to the Demon is making small talk with him. Well, he guesses the Heir to the Demon is also practically his daughter-in-law.

He tries not to laugh.

“Yeah. Couldn’t get her to sit still long enough to teach her anything else, but she had so much energy as a kid that she never slept in on the weekend. Pancakes were the only way to keep her from waking up her mom and sister.”

Nyssa smiles fondly, and it’s the first time Quentin’s ever really processed how beautiful the woman Sara loves is.

“She once made them for my father. He was amused, but also impressed. She told us many stories of you.”

He’s not quite sure how to take that, so he just says:

“Thank you, for coming to get me.”

Nyssa declines her head.

“I only regret that I couldn’t come for you sooner. And that I may not tell you why. I thank you for your forgiveness.”

“You saved her life.”

“She helped.”

“Ah, stop talking about me! It’s freaking me out,” Sara interrupts, balancing three plates that she safely delivers to the little table in the corner. “Now, unless you want Rocket to eat half your food, get to the table.  
  
***  
  
Nyssa takes Rocket into the backyard after breakfast, under the pretense of supervising her, but Sara knows it’s to give her more time alone with her dad. She knows they have to leave soon, and it pulls hard at her heart. 

“Not too long. She gets cold easy.”

“She will survive, habibti. Come along, little Sarookh.”

Nyssa gives the small tennis ball in her hand a hefty throw out of the back door and Rocket goes flying after it.

“She could be a decent centerfielder,” he dad says, mildly impressed, once the door closes behind them.

“I keep telling her that!” Sara agrees, smiling. She sips at her coffee.

“Can I ask you a question I think I know the answer to?”

She meets his eyes and nods.

“When you finally get sprung from here, you still gotta go back to the League?”

Sara sees the pain on his face and wishes she could erase it.

“Yeah. I chose to go back to them, and Ra’s accepted me.” She doesn’t tell him the rest, how she’ll have to re-swear that allegiance and prove to Ra’s she is here to stay and to serve. “I’m okay with that, Dad. In fact, it’s what I want. I can come see you whenever. It’s different this time.”

“But all that killing, Sara. I saw what it did to you. And it almost got you killed again! How can you just go back?”

Sara takes a deep breath. “I made my peace with it. And serving the League? It gives me purpose. And it keeps everyone I love safe. My family, and Nyssa.”

She sees the recognition in his eyes.

“I love her, Dad.”

“Oh, I know.” His mouth is a thin line. Then he nods and grins a little. “Well, there’s gotta be some perks to dating the Princess of the League of Assassins, I’d bet.”

Sara’s laugh escapes sharply before she can stop it. “Don’t _ever_ let her hear you call her a princess.” She catches her breath. “But we’re a good team, Dad. Nyssa and I are pretty great at keeping each other safe.”

“Yeah, I noticed.”

“So we’ll keep doing it, okay? Promise.”

“Alright. I’ll hold you both to that.”  
  
***  
  
It is physically painful to watch them leave. Her dad pulls her close and whispers his love into her hair, promising to keep one more agonizing secret.

“Hey,” he says with that achingly sloppy smile she’s known her whole life. “I have no idea where we are, but maybe Nyssa can bring me back some time and I can do the cooking. Not that your cooking wasn’t great, Nyssa. Really great.”

Nyssa nods appreciatively. “If it is safe, I will endeavor to return for you.”

“Okay, good.” Her dad even kneels down and gives Rocket a good scruff behind the ears. “Look out for her, little dog.”

Rocket’s tail wags out a ‘you got it’. 

“Alright,” her dad says as she helps him to his feet. “Gimme that blindfold and sleeping pills.”

With a final hug for him and a lingering kiss for Nyssa, she lets them walk out into the cold January day. She pulls her arms around her middle tight, fighting off more than the cold, struggling to chase away the fear of being alone again.

Rocket lets out a whine at her feet.

“Yeah, okay. Nyssa’s gone. You can have a pancake now.”  
  
***  
  
He knocks on the door. Ra’s al Ghul knocks on her door. In plain clothes.

Rocket picks up on her tension and barks endlessly until she closes her in the second bedroom. Ra’s just watches her with bemusement, as wordless as when she first opened the door.

“Hello, Taer al-Asfer. You seem to have recovered well from your injuries.”

Sara takes a deep breath and answers:

“The League made me strong.”

“Indeed. I have an assignment for you.”

“I live to serve the League.”

“Yes. The target is Olaf Getterson. He does the books for one of Coast City’s most notorious crime families. I trust he will not be too difficult for you to eliminate.”

“I will take care of it.”

“Mm,” Ra’s nods. “My daughter nearly killed me for your sake.”

Sara already knows that, but she feels herself blanch at the casual mention.

“I know.”

Nyssa always taught her that honesty is always best with Ra’s.

“You have a power over my daughter that makes you dangerous, Yellow Bird. And still, were I to kill you, I would also kill Nyssa, something not yet worth it to me. _Yet_. Serve the League well, and you both shall have my blessing. You shall be welcomed into the fold. Betray me, fail me, and you shall share in the same fate.”

“I’ve made my choice.”

“I’m glad, because you have proven surprisingly difficult to kill.” Ra’s might even smile, just a bit. “You have your assignment.”

“It will be done.”

“In two days, Taer al-Asfer.”  
  
***  
  
It’s a test, especially the choice of target. Olaf is a bad man, to be sure, but there is no blood on his hands. He’s just the accountant.

Nyssa had been handpicking Sara’s assignments before this “disappearance”, all recon and rapists, and Ra’s is sending her a strong message: serving the League means serving the Head of the Demon, not his Heir.

She feels sick at the thought of killing like this, meticulous assassination, but she’s used to that. Like she told Ra’s, she made a choice: she must live with the consequences. She returned to the League for Starling, yes. For her family. But once she got there, she stayed for Nyssa. And for herself, to finally choose her own destiny and direct her own fate. This was the price. To break from the League now would be Death, slow and painful. For her, for Nyssa, probably for her family. Definitely for Rocket. Best case scenario? A lifetime of hidey-holes and permanent exile. Her queasy stomach shouldn’t bring doom and sadness for everyone she loves. Not again. 

  
***  
  
She can’t use the gun - that’s not the League’s way. She can’t use the bo - too conspicuous, the Canary cannot rise yet. That leaves three options: the bow, the knife, the poison.

She considers putting an arrow or two in him. It’s never been her best weapon, but she’s competent in it. But it screams League of Assassins, and it might raise too many suspicions. The knife… she’s not sure she’s ready for that intimate of a kill. Poison, though, seems the coward’s way.

Knife then.

She dresses in all black, and the familiarity of her preparation rituals falls upon her, strengthening her like armor. 

She tries not to think about how absolutely ridiculous it feels driving to a hit in her suburban sedan and focuses instead on the tactical advantages this utterly nondescript car affords her.

The first night, she follows him, watches him rub elbows and snort coke with human traffickers and drug king pins. There are too many people, though, enforcers and sycophants and the strippers they treat like trash. She can’t get close to him, and she’s really just not up for the exposure of her fallback undercover seduction kill.

The next evening, though, he stays late at his office, and Sara tucks the blade in her belt and lets herself in. The knife is at his throat before he can even notice, and she slams a USB drive onto his desk in front of him.

“The files, Olaf.”

“Wh-wh-what files?” Getterson sweats and stutters and sways.

“You know what files.”

His shaking hands fumble to accomplish the task, and it gives Sara too much time to survey his desk. A wave of panic hits her gut when she sees a picture of him and an older woman, likely his mother, but it’s a weaker feeling than she expected.

“Ok-kay. You got ‘em. You can go.”

“That’s not how this works.”

She thinks of the way he treated the women last night like objects, thinks of what evil his number crunching has allowed to flourish undetected, what horrors he has profited from. 

She thinks of Nyssa.

She sinks the knife into his chest and walks away.

With her renewed sense of purpose and clarity of self, none of it is as hard as she thought it would be. 

And hey, at least she got to do something more than sit around the house and tend bar.  
  
***  
  
He is there, in her living room, when she gets home. 

Rocket has either decided she can’t take him in a fight or that he smells enough like Nyssa to be allowed to stay. She sits on the opposite side of the couch from him. This time he is in full regalia. Rocket’s favorite fetch toy sits precariously close to the edge of his robes, which means she either attempted to or even succeeded in coaxing him into a game. 

“Well done, Taer al-Asfer,” he says, standing.

She gives a half-bow, hoping it suffices. As Nyssa’s Beloved, the level of outward respect and obedience expected of her had varied by time and location. She crosses to him and hands over the USB.

“There has always been a calculated ruthlessness to you, Sara, that I have admired. A willingness to do what must be done. I am quite pleased to see it reborn in you.”

“Are you going to do something with that?” she asks, nodding to the drive.

“Ah, yes. Of course. I’ll leave the choice to you. Police justice or League justice?”

She thinks about the conversations she overheard, women, _girls_ , bought and sold like livestock by men who laughed about it.

“League justice.”

Sara didn’t even process that it was a test until she sees Ra’s begin to smile.

“Would you like to lead that team?”

“Yes,” she answers without hesitation, and his smile grows wider.

“Unfortunately,  I must leave you here, hidden. Soon, though, little Yellow Bird. Soon you may return to more active service in my name.” He pauses. “After you have sworn your fealty for a final time.” He gestures for her to kneel.

“Here?” she asks. “Don’t you want me to do it in the throne room at Nanda Parbat?”

Nyssa once told her no one has ever openly questioned Ra’s al Ghul as often as she does. Sara likes to think (hope) that Ra’s appreciates it.

“You need only convince _me_ of your allegiance, Taer al-Asfer. I know that my daughter will do anything for you. Even betray me. I also know that Nyssa will never move against me unless you are the drive behind it. Swear your loyalty to me, and we all have what we desire. You return to your coveted position of honor as the Beloved of my Heir, and together, you and Nyssa will secure my legacy. Do you remember the Oath?”

“Of course.”

“Of course. You’ve said it more than once.” He smiles again. It’s getting a little disconcerting. “Then swear it.”

The first time she had taken a knee and recited these words, her Arabic had been poor and her voice shaky, the League her only choice. The second time, she had made the choice knowingly, a new beginning. This third and final time, she looks him firmly in the eye and the words flow freely and easily, and they are almost like coming home.

When she is finished, Ra’s takes her by the shoulders and raises her to her feet, embracing her warmly. He smells of Nanda Parbat, of quiet dinners she and Nyssa took with him in his study or on his veranda, talking well into the night. 

“Welcome back, my child,” he says softly in Arabic. 

He steps back after a moment and retrieves something from the coffee table. “For you. Your duty for now is to remain hidden until I call you to my side. But when you do return to my side, wear this. A token of my trust in you.”

It is a scarf of beautifully woven gold silk, and its meaning is clear. Taer al-Asfer. The League’s Yellow Bird.

“Thank you,” she replies honestly in Arabic.

He nods. 

“You are my secret weapon, and when I discover who is plotting against me, I am going to point you directly at their jugular. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“And I trust,” he smiles his sinister smile one final time, “You will, as ever, do exactly what is necessary.”  
  


***

 

tbc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter could be subtitled "Sara has two dads". 
> 
> Also, I'm taking liberties with Ra's al Ghul and the League, but hopefully they aren't any more ridiculous than the liberties taken by canon.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little shorter and more of a bridge as Felicity (mostly) catches us up on the goings on of Starling City. But a super important, plot rocketing forward bridge. And our ladies are apart for all of it. I'll make it up to you soon! I promise.

Well, this has all just blown up royally. 

Felicity takes a step back from Arrow duty to focus on work (and tone down her annoyance with Oliver. And make it a little easier to lie to all of them) and everything goes to hell in a hand basket while she’s away. 

After a few months hiding under a rock somewhere, Merlyn apparently got antsy and scuttled back to Starling City. And just in case Oliver came to his senses while he was gone, he returned with an ace up his sleeve.

The video, an absolutely wrenching account of Sara’s murder at _Thea_ ’s hands, is a fake, obviously. But it’s a really good fake. So good that Felicity feels the need to secretly text Sara.

( _You’re still alive, right?_

 _Pretty sure_ , Sara texts back. _Rocket says yes_.)

The fake is so good that Felicity can’t prove it’s a fake, at least not without, you know, spilling deadly secrets. 

It’s haunting, security-like footage of three arrows hitting Sara, then it pans over to a dazed looking Thea, bow in hand.

Oliver may not believe it, Merlyn argues, but Ra’s will. And what does Oliver think Ra’s will do to the girl who murdered his daughter’s Beloved?

Felicity has to swallow her own inside information. Of course Ra’s won’t believe it. Ra’s knows Sara is alive. But she can’t say any of that. She’s one thousand percent sure that Merlyn is behind all of this, and even the Foundry isn’t a safe place to talk about it.

Oliver decides not to tell Thea about the video. Which, if she didn’t know it was a total fake and Sara was still super alive, Felicity would be totally against. She learned that lesson with Roy; it isn’t their decision to make. 

But since it is a fake… Well, that makes it a little easier for Felicity not to speak up.

There is an upside to all of this. Thea learns (some of) Oliver’s secrets. There’s another person taken into the fold, someone else to roll her eyes with when Oliver and Laurel fight about the Black Canary. But then Oliver starts talking about how only the student can defeat the teacher. Merlyn is apparently convincing him that the only way for Thea to ever be safe is to kill Ra’s al Ghul. 

And Oliver is listening. Felicity considers banging his head against the salmon ladder.

Everything changes when the Queens return from Lian Yu. Thea is so haunted and broken, full of this awful idea that she has taken the life of a friend. And Felicity just can’t stand for it.

She knows both Oliver and Nyssa are going to kill her for this (quite possibly _literally_ in Nyssa’s case), but she sees Thea burying herself in a bottle in a deserted Verdant, and she breaks.

“You look like you could use a little girl time,” Felicity tries to be as casual as possible, just in case Merlyn is watching.

“Not now, Felicity.”

It’s pretty polite, all things considered.

“No, I insist. Movies and whatever ice cream you want. My place. Right now.” She steps in too close and whispers, “Just trust me. And leave your phone here.”

Thea looks at her, absolutely dumbfounded as Felicity down the rest of Thea’s glass.

“C’mon! I got Rocky Road and _Ten Things I Hate About You_.”

Thea still looks confused, but she plays along.

“Okay… Vodka too?”

“Of course. What kinda girls’ night do you think this is?!”  
  
***  
  
When they get to Felicity’s apartment, still keeping up the facade of girls’ night until they’re inside, Felicity closes her eyes and sighs:

“I apologize in advance for what I’m about to say but you need to take off all your clothes.”

“What?!”

“I need to make sure that we aren’t being followed.”  
  
***  
  
One car ride, three trains, four taxis, and a million “What the hell, Felicity!”s later, they’ve made it. Thea, dressed in Felicity’s clothes, asks:

“Are we finally here? And where the hell is here?”

Felicity is typing the usual “it’s me, don’t shoot” into her phone, and the door pulls open as soon as their booted feet hit the top step.

“You aren’t supposed to be - Thea?!”

Felicity thinks she does a pretty good job catching Thea when she faints, considering she’s the only one of them _without_ League training.  
  
***  
  
Felicity is talking even faster than usual, but Sara thinks she is mostly keeping up even as she picks Thea up and carries her into the couch, avoiding tripping on Rocket. Her desire to kill Malcolm Merlyn is at an all time high, and that’s saying something.

“Not that I’m not grateful for the company, but isn’t this place supposed to be a secret?” Sara grunts, setting Thea down.

“I’m sorry, I panicked. I couldn’t be one more person keeping something from her and messing with her head.”

“I get it.”

“I made sure we weren’t followed. I didn’t tell anyone.”

“It’s okay, Felicity, I trust you.”

“Is Nyssa going to kill me? Or _Thea_?!”

“No, no. I won’t let her kill Thea. She’ll understand. Merlin is a slippery bastard, and Nyssa’s known him a lot longer than any of us.”

Thea is coming to, and as soon as she sees Sara, she leaps up and backs away. 

“You’re - you’re dead. I-“

“You didn’t kill me, Thea. You didn’t even shoot me,” Sara promises, holding out a calming hand and slowly approaching her. “It’s a really long story, but I faked my death because someone, apparently Merlyn, was trying to kill me. But I am totally me and totally alive.”

She finally gets close enough that she can take Thea’s hand. At the contact, Thea’s face completely crumples. Thea collapses against Sara’s chest with a shuddering sob, and Sara presses a kiss to the top of her head and holds her close, rubbing circles on her back.

“It’s okay.”

“No, no, it’s not. He’s a monster,” Thea gasps.

“I know.”

“And he made me a monster. I _let_ him.”

“No,” Sara soothes. “You didn’t kill me. You didn’t kill anyone.”

“But I could have,” Thea sobs. “I could have.”

Sara just holds her a while longer, and Felicity puts on a pot of tea. Thea’s tears slow and her breathing quiets until she finally says:

“Is that a dog?”

Sara laughs, hard, pulling away a little as Thea gets more steady on her feet. 

“Yeah, that’s Rocket. Why don’t you sit on the couch with her? She’s pretty great at cheering me up when I’m upset.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Sara settles her on the couch with the blanket, and Rocket crawls underneath to do her duty.

“Remote’s on the coffee table if you wanna watch something.”

Thea nods and Sara turns to go join Felicity in the kitchen.

“Sara?”

She turns back.

“Someone needs to put Malcolm down.”

Sara takes a deep breath and nods. 

“You okay with that?”

“Yes,” Thea says, and the sobbing girl of moments before is gone, replaced with a woman with a will of iron. “Will you do it?”

“Yeah,” Sara answers honestly. “I’m pretty sure it’s gonna be me.”  
  
***  
  
They all decide it is best that Thea stay with Sara for now, and Felicity leaves a copy of the video for Sara to pass on to the League. 

Felicity can feel something big coming, and even little Rocket is subdued as she says her goodbyes. 

“Just tell Ollie I’m safe, okay?” Thea asks. “And don’t let him come looking.”

Felicity agrees.

“Thank you,” Thea says, hugging her. “For telling me the truth.”

“Least I could do,” Felicity smiles tightly. “I’m pretty sure Malcolm Merlyn should be absolutely terrified right now. You two together…”

Thea’s face grows hard. “He better be.”  
  


***

  
“Have you seen Thea? I’m getting worried. I’ve looked everywhere - her place, here, Roy’s, the mansion. I can’t find her.”

“That would be because I hid her,” Felicity says matter-of-factly, turning in her chair to face him. She’s never really thought the Queen siblings look all that alike, but he is making the exact same dumbfounded face that Thea made last night. Guess they get it from their mother.

Felicity is tired: getting to and from Coast City in the most convoluted way possible leaves, like, zero time for sleeping. Oliver is still staring, wordless.

“She’s safe, and she told me to tell you not to come looking for her, okay?”

“I - Felicity! The League could find her! Who will protect her?”

“Okay, so - One: Believe me, the League is not going to be a danger where she is. Two: She is pretty good at protecting herself, and she has back-up. Hardcore back-up. Three: She wants nothing to do with Merlyn and all this crap after what he’s done to her. And I’m not telling you anything else. Because you are working with the man who admitted to orchestrating the murder of a woman you say you loved.”

“Felicity -“

“And he used your sister to do it. So he has now attacked two women you love, and who knows what he’s done to your mother. So no. I’m not gonna tell you where Thea is. He’s poisoned you.”

She hadn’t realized how angry with him she is until it all comes pouring out. She’s scaring even herself with how calmly she lays it out.

“Frankly, Oliver, it’s pretty terrifying to be a woman you love right now, with Merlyn lurking around. So. Thea is safe. That’s all you get to know.”

She stands and tosses her phone into her purse.

“I’m going home.”

  
***

  
Thea takes a while to warm up, but by the afternoon, she’s asking lots of questions, and Sara figures she’s deep enough into this already that she deserves honest answers. Plus, it’s kinda nice to tell someone all of this.

“So let’s back up,” Thea says after they’ve covered all the important parts, tucked on the couch and sharing a few beers. “You’re dating Ra’s al Ghul’s daughter.”

“We’re together, yes,” Sara laughs.

“I’ve seen her around. Super hot. Nice work,” Thea says, raising her bottle in salute. “And you’ve been together for, like, forever.”

“Yep.”

“Except for that time you came back and were with my brother.”

“Yeah. That’s a bit of a sore subject.”

“I’m surprised Ollie’s alive, honestly.”

Sara laughs again.

“So you’re still with the League?”

Sara nods.

“I have a feeling that I’m going to be pulled off the benches soon. Merlyn trained you?”

“Yeah.”

“Wanna see how you measure up?”

Thea grins.  
  


***

  
She measures up pretty damn well, considering the short length of her training. And it’s great to spar with a real person, rather than just wailing on her training dummy while Rocket looks on speciously.

After a couple hours, they order in subs, and Sara resists the urge to obsessively check her phone.

Communication with Nanda Parbat is purposefully difficult, and Nyssa checks in at designated times. Sara already sent a text message, just in case Nyssa is somewhere other than Nanda Parbat, but there’s been no response, so all Sara can do is wait until tomorrow afternoon.

And worry.

For someone who used to consider herself the consummate free spirit, she’s gotten really good at worrying.  
  


***

  
The attack comes at night. The assailant does not get as far as her bed chamber. She is no fool.

But there is a League assassin, not an imposter, laying wheezing at Sar'ab’s feet outside her door. 

“Who sent you? _Who turned you_?” 

She is cold, hard rage this time, steel not fire.

“Al Saher,” he gurgles. “I serve the League’s new master.”

“Make his final moments agony,” she orders.

Sar'ab nods and drags the traitor away. Bow in hand, she tracks down her father. He is outside his study, wiping his blade clean.

“Al Saher grows more desperate,” she notes.

“Displayed his hand too soon,” her father agrees. “Still, I am most troubled that he has been able to turn so many of our ranks.”

“Any survivors?”

“None, but they died with his name on their lips. Sentries report another twenty somehow escaped under the pretense of a mission.”

Nyssa’s blood is boiling. She considers going back and finishing the job she sent Sar'ab off to do.

“The Traitor is amassing forces.”

“The Traitor is calling us out.” He slides his sword back into his best. “Retrieve your Beloved, daughter. The war has begun, and I promised Taer al-Asfer she could go hunting.”

  
***  
  


tbc


	8. Chapter 8

  
  
Sara’s phone finally rings.

“Nyssa.”

“Sara, I-“

“It’s definitely Merlyn,” comes spilling out of her.

“I know.”

“You know? How do you -“ Sara starts.

“Assassins loyal to him attacked me and my father last night.”

“What?!” Her heart is in her throat. “Are you okay?”

“Uninjured,” Nyssa reports. “Angry. They did not get close. I am en route to you now. We are to proceed to Starling, confirm that Merlyn is there, then rendezvous at the American compound in three days’ time.”

Sara swallows, head suddenly spinning. Months of inaction fast forwarding into the end game is whip-lash inducing.

“Okay. I’ll pack.”

“I will arrive in six hours.”

“Okay. Thea is here.”

“Thea… Queen?”

“Yeah. Felicity brought her. It’s a long story. It’s okay. Trust me; this helps.”

“Very well. I will see you soon.”

“Nyssa,” Sara feels compelled to say before she hangs up. “I love you.”

The line crackles in silence for a moment. It’s something that often goes understood but unspoken between them

“I love you with all of my soul, habibti.”  
  


***

  
Sara fills Thea in briefly. 

Thea and Rocket had been playing a rousing game of tug of war before, an attempt to drain off some of the excess energy Rocket’s built up since the February freeze has limited her daily walks. When Sara tells Thea what’s going on, the younger woman just nods firmly.

“Alright,” she says “Figuring out where he is will be easy enough. I’ll draw him out.”

“Thea, you don’t have to-“

“Sara, don’t be my brother.” 

There is a particular set to Thea’s jaw that makes her difficult to argue with.

“Fair enough. If you want in, I’m not going to stand in your way. But only what you feel comfy with, okay? Say the word and you can be out.”

“Alright,” Thea repeats, grabbing at the tug toy again. 

Sara leaves Rocket and Thea to their game and escapes into the shower.  

She feels the pressure building in her chest, the antsiness under her skin. She’s been waiting for this for months, but suddenly it’s all so very real and so very fast. That feeling she’s been categorizing as worry bubbles up and mixes with rage in her stomach. As the water pounds against her back, the tightness in her snaps like a rubber band. She slams a hand, palm first, into the tile wall.

She holds back, though. She can’t deal with a broken hand or a broken shower right now.

“Uh, Sara? You okay?” Thea’s question is accompanied by a gentle knock.

“Yep!” Sara calls back, finally dunking her head under the water.

“Okay,” Thea accepts without further question. Sara figures she understands.

As much as she hates putting her in harm’s way, Thea offers an excellent chance to get Malcolm Merlyn right where she wants him. And she’s definitely not going to keep Thea from any role she wants in helping take down a man who has so used and abused her. Who leveled a whole section of their city and killed Thea’s own half-brother. 

But if they’re headed to Starling City, there are two stops they need to make before they do anything else. Two people who deserve to know she’s alive and get an explanation about why she did this to them. Because if Thea knows, it’s damn well time for Sin and Laurel to know.

Besides, someone’s gonna have to watch Rocket while she’s off kicking Merlyn’s ass.

  
***

  
Nyssa is anxious to get to Sara, but must be more discrete than ever. In addition to the twenty that fled Nanda Parbat, another dozen traitors disappeared from active assignments. Al Saher is amassing an army, and her little bird is, to her father, a weapon that must be guarded at all costs. Nyssa agrees with at least part of his assessment.

She finally does make it, though. She abandons a car a few blocks away (a League contact in Coast City will take care of it in a day or so) and makes her way through backyards and over the fence to the back door of Sara’s house. Rocket is waiting expectantly. She can fool anyone but little Sarookh. 

“Hello to you, too,” she greets the tiny dog, whose tail is going a mile a minute and who jumps excitedly at her arrival. 

There’s two duffle bags ready to go in the living room, and a girl Nyssa recognizes as Thea Queen on the couch. Thea doesn’t seem too surprised to see her, so she just nods a greeting.

“Nyssa!”

Sara emerges from the kitchen and is quickly throwing her arms around her. 

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” Sara says in Arabic, holding her tight.

Nyssa lets herself relax, burying her face in Sara’s sweet smelling hair and her fingers in the soft material of her shirt.

Without Sara, she is all rage and watchfulness and a racing mind plotting revenge. With Sara, peace falls over her. That is likely because when she is in Sara’s presence, her Beloved is all she can focus on. 

“You are free, Yellow Bird,” Nyssa replies softly, also in Arabic. Sara nods against her shoulder, then kisses her warmly but too briefly and pulls away.

“Rocket and I are all packed. Thea didn’t actually know she was coming here, so she doesn’t have anything to pack.”

“That is a story I look forward to hearing,” Nyssa notes.

“It’s a doozy of a Felicity story,” Thea grins, standing and collecting her coat. “I still think I would have packed lighter than the dog, though.”

“Habibti,” Nyssa complains, looking to Sara reproachfully. 

“You left me alone with a dog and an Internet connection for _months_. What did you expect?” Sara shrugs. “Thea, do you mind taking the stuff out to the car? Keys are by the door. We’ll be right out.”

“Sure,” Thea shrugs on her coat.

“Watch your back,” Sara calls after her.

As soon as Thea’s out the door, Sara grabs the lapels of Nyssa’s parka and pushes her against the cold backdoor, mouth hot and insistent against hers now that they are chaperoneless. Nyssa is powerless to do anything but respond.

Rocket, however, is as persistent and attention-needy as ever, so they get no more than a minute of roaming hands and sweet lips before Sara pulls away again. 

“Rocket,” she scolds, hands still at Nyssa’s ribs, tracing gentle patterns. “You are about to get hours of attention.”

Rocket huffs.

“Fine,” Sara sighs. “We should get going anyway.” She kisses Nyssa one last time before stepping away. “Thea and I have the beginning of a plan. We’ll fill you in on the car ride.” She slips into her own winter coat and then scoops up the little dog, asking Rocket: “Ready for a road trip?”

The dog grunts.

“That’s what I thought. And then, Rocket Dog,” Sara kisses Rocket’s soft head, “ We’re going hunting.”

Nyssa wonders if Sara and her father are aware of all they have in common when it comes to how they deal with threats to their families. 

Nyssa also wonders if anyone has ever been simultaneously so adorable and so deadly as her Taer al-Asfer.

  
***

  
The front door to the apartment opens, and Sara braces herself.

“Ah!” Sin cries, throwing up her keys and readying her mace.

Sara bites back a smile.

“Jeez, Nyssa,” Sin says, once she recognizes the Heir to the Demon, clutching her chest. “We’ve talked about this. Just knock on the door like a normal person, _please_. I will let you in!”

“My apologies, Sin,” Nyssa replies, amused. 

Sara continues to fight a laugh, further in the shadows, wondering how often this has happened. 

“You didn’t bring more money, did you? ‘Cause I told you, I really appreciate the apartment, but I’m not taking any more handouts.”

Sara smiles now, both at her proud little Sin and how often Nyssa seems to have been attempting to take care of her. 

“Has she always been this stubborn?” Nyssa asks over her shoulder.

“As long as I’ve known her,” Sara answers.

“Oh, shut up, Sara, you’re always - Sara?!”

“Surprise, I’m not dead.”

To be perfectly honest, Sara never let herself imagine coming back from the dead. Everyone else who’s found out (Felicity, her dad, Thea) had been a surprise to her as well as the other person. This time all she has been able to do is hope Sin and Laurel won’t hate her for what she’s done.

She doesn’t get hate or anger, though. She gets arms around her middle and a face pressed into her shoulder. 

“Holy shit,” Sin says, voice muffled.

“Yeah,” Sara agrees, returning the hug.

“You are a surprising woman, Sara Lance.”

Sara laughs: “You’re not mad?”

“You’re into some crazy things; I probably don’t want to know why or how. But I do know that the world is better off _with_ you, so I’m not gonna ask too many questions,” Sin says, squeezing her tighter. 

“Well, I promise to tell you everything, later,” Sara smiles, ruffling Sin’s hair. “But first I have a really big favor to ask. Well, two, actually.”

“Okay, of course,” Sin says, pulling away, still grinning wildly.

“Can we crash here?”

“Yeah, duh. She owns it, anyway,” Sin shrugs, hooking a thumb at Nyssa.

Nyssa looks around the tiny one bedroom apartment at the edge of the Glades with skepticism. 

“I tried to talk her into something a little… rustic.”

“I am one small person. A roof is good enough, and I feel weird even taking that,” Sin shrugs. “It’s better than the clocktower, though.”

“The clocktower?” Nyssa questions.

Sara winces a little. “You don’t wanna know about the clocktower.”

Nyssa gives her a look, but thankfully Sin saves her.

“What’s the second favor?”

Sara grins: “Can you watch our dog?”

  
***

  
Okay, so, she’ll admit to being a coward about this, but she lets Felicity and her dad break the news to Laurel before she gets there. She just doesn’t think that her older sister would take to her surprise appearance as well as Sin did, and she wants Laurel to at least have a little time to process. Now, though, while Rocket is safely in Sin’s care and Thea starts to feel out where Merlyn is, under Nyssa’s watchful, invisible protection, Sara waits outside the door to Laurel’s apartment until Felicity tells her to come in.

She knows this is going to be the hardest before she even steps into the room. Laurel was the one to find her body, to drag her body into the Arrow cave, three arrows protruding from her. For all intents and purposes - dead. She wasn’t conscious, but she imagines Laurel cried, wailed. And what happened next, what Sara had to leave Laurel to deal with afterwards… She can’t begin to imagine. 

Felicity filled Sara in on how Laurel has been doing, on _what_ Laurel has been doing, taking up her mantle to defend Starling City. Sara is equal parts bursting with pride and knotted in fear. Risking her own life recklessly was one thing, but for Laurel to do it?

Sara takes a deep breath and opens the door to enter. She hears the gasp and cowardly looks to Felicity and her dad first. Each gives her a nod of encouragement.

“Please don’t hate me,” Sara says softly.

Laurel gapes, wordless for maybe the first time in Sara’s life. Then, still silent, she crosses quickly to Sara. Sara tenses, just in case a slap or punch is coming, but Laurel instead grabs Sara into a bone-crunching embrace, even lifting her off the ground. Guess that Canary training is paying off.

“Once we take care of that piece of shit Merlyn, I’m going to kill you myself,” Laurel says fiercely. 

“Pretty sure that’s your prerogative as a big sister,” Sara laughs, hugging her back just as hard. 

“I am so mad at you,” Laurel says, still holding her tight.

“I am so sorry.”

“And I will never forgive you for getting a dog before me,” Laurel says, finally letting go a little.

“Dad told you?” Sara asks, looking over to… two people that already evacuated the room, apparently. 

“Yep. Faking your death _and_ getting a dog? God, Sara, you’re the worse.”

Sara chuckles and grabs her sister’s hand, leading her over to the couch.

“So, Thea didn’t kill you?”

“No,” Sara laughs.

“Who really put those arrows in you?”

“Nyssa.”

“What??”

“Consensually!”

Laurel blinks, then smiles slyly: “You two are into some kinky shit.”

Sara smacks her shoulder, impressed with the muscle tone she finds there.

“Look at you, Canary.”

“Black Canary,” Laurel corrects, “Though I guess the name’s really yours again.”

“Nah. Keep it. You’re doing great with it.”

Laurel seems touched by the comment.

“So now what?” Laurel asks.

“Nyssa and I are going to go assemble a bunch of members of the League, and we’re taking Merlyn down. For what he did to me, what he did to Thea, what he did to Tommy, and what he did to this city.”

Laurel nods.

“I’m helping.”

Sara pauses.

“Don’t you fight me on this, Sara.”

“ _Fine_ ,” Sara sighs. “You should know something, though. I’m pretty sure Ra’s is going to order me to kill Merlyn on sight. He’s too slippery to risk anything else.”

“I agree with your father-in-law on this one.”

“You’re okay with me killing him?”

“I was going to do it myself, but you probably get priority on it.”

“Okay.” Sara takes a deep breath. “I knew you would find my body. I’m sorry I put you through all of that.”

“Oh, I’m pissed, but it all seems pretty small compared to the fact that you’re actually alive.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m going to be more pissed later.”

“Fair enough.”

  
***

  
“Where have you been?” Al Saher demands of Thea, getting closer than Nyssa likes. She stays where she is, though. Thea swore she could take care of herself with Merlyn, and Nyssa will give her space to operate. 

In any event, Merlyn arrived at Thea’s apartment with three other traitors; moving against him now would be unwise.

“Around,” Thea answers easily. “Not really your business.”

“I’m your-“

“Don’t,” Thea gets dead serious, voice whip-like and deadly. “You made me a murderer. Sara was my friend, and I killed her. So don’t. You got me into this mess, so I’ll take your advice and I’ll fight the League. But you are _not_ my father. Okay?”

“You’ll understand someday,” Al Saher says. “All of this is necessary, and when I run the League-“

“Save the grand plans for later, huh?” Thea yawns. “I’m tired. Go stay somewhere else with your weird lackeys.”

  
***

  
Nyssa, of course, does not forget the clocktower. 

After Sara leaves Laurel’s with a promise to keep everyone updated on the plan, she meets up with Nyssa, who reports that Thea’s first contact with Merlyn went well and expresses approval of the younger Queen’s grit. Sara wants to grab Big Belly Burger and go see Sin and Rocket. Nyssa, however, has other ideas. 

“What is the clocktower?”

Sara sighs. She’s not going to fight her on this. Besides, Nyssa is terrifyingly tenacious.

“It’s just where Sin and I lived when I came back to Starling the first time.”

“And it was even less hospitable than Sin’s current apartment?”

“We stay crappy places all the time for missions,” Sara deflects.

“I see.”

“Nyssa…”

“May I see it?” Nyssa asks. “Please.”

It’s such a simple request, the street lights reflecting in her earnest dark eyes. Sara had expected something more demanding.

“Yeah,” Sara agrees. “Okay.”

It takes a little while, but they get there, and Sara still remembers how to break in unobserved. She leads her up the stairs, and Nyssa is very quiet, taking in everything around her with appraising eyes. They finally get to the top, with its tarps and abandoned construction equipment and delightful twenty-four hour “breeze”. Now with more blood stains.

“It wasn’t quite this bad before,” Sara tries to explain. “Ollie used it during the whole Slade situation.”

Nyssa doesn’t respond, and endless minutes go by as she explores and examines every corner of the place. Sara lets her go, remaining by the clock face itself. When Nyssa finally returns to her side, there is an aching pain in her eyes.

“You would have rather lived here, with no walls, no running water, barely a roof, than remain at my side?”

Sara’s throat is thick as she remembers that time. She has to close her eyes against the devastation lingering on Nyssa’s face.

“It was never about you,” she says softly. “I was punishing myself, for everything. For not being here for my family, for letting them think I was dead. For serving your father simply because there was no other option. For not being strong enough to stay with you, and being such a coward that I couldn’t even say goodbye.”

She opens her eyes and meets Nyssa’s gaze.

“I didn’t think I deserved anything, and you kept looking at me like I deserved _everything_.”

“You do,” Nyssa says, simply. The pain is less apparent now, and she doesn’t break her gaze.

“I was lost. I had to find myself before I could choose you.”

Nyssa nods once, looking around one final time.

“Did you bring him here?” she asks, her voice tight.

“Yes,” Sara admits.

Nyssa pauses and then asks: “Did you love him?”

“Not then. If I ever did, I didn’t then. And never like I love you.”

“I am not jealous,” Nyssa says quickly.

“Not _that_ jealous,” Sara teases lightly, and Nyssa’s eyes flash with delightful, electric annoyance.

“I only seek to understand,” Nyssa continues, stepping into her space. Sara’s breath catches in her throat at the look in her eyes, and she instinctively reaches for her, hands lacing at the base of Nyssa’s neck.

“I tried to leave behind everything I was before when you saved me. And then I tried to leave behind the League and try to be who I could have been before. But I learned you can’t leave anything behind. I am everyone I was before, everything I lived through, but I can still be who I want to be now.”

Sara’s back hits the glass of the clock face, the result of Nyssa’s slow, steady advancing. She prays it is one of the solid panels, because she knows what happens next. She can already feel the thrill of it in her spine.

“And who do you want to be now, Sara?” Nyssa asks softly, mouth just inches from hers, breath against her cheek, hands at her hips.

“Yours,” Sara breathes. “All I’ve ever wanted, all I’ll ever want, is to be yours.”

Nyssa lifts her even as their lips collide, and Sara melts into her.

  
***  
  


tbc


	9. Chapter 9

The American compound is located at an undisclosed location, an undisclosed distance from Starling City. Leaving Rocket behind with Sin is even more difficult than she anticipated it being, but she wasn't going to bring her to a League meeting just yet.

The compound is fairly spartan. As lavish as parts of Nanda Parbat can be, these compounds tend to be utilitarian. Nanda Parbat is ceremony; this is work.

The beds are comfy enough, though. A well-rested assassin is an effective assassin. 

At the appropriate time, Sara pulls on League standard robes. The clothes she wore before, they belong to a different life. A life that ended, very close to literally, with three arrows in her chest. Now it is most important that she blend seamlessly into the League, to show her complete commitment. 

She takes the scarf Ra's gifted her in her hands, soft and incredibly strong. As with nearly everything Ra’s does, the gift has a dual nature, equal parts touching gesture and leash and collar. She doesn’t need the second part, though. She knows who she is, and who she belongs to, and it’s not Ra’s al Ghul but his daughter. Just as his daughter belongs to her. 

But Ra’s was right: it is in everyone’s best interest for the three of them to be a united front. And as long as they serve him well, he will do nothing but protect them.

So Sara ties the scarf around her waist, the knot secure but easy to undo with the right touch, so that she may use it in battle if necessary. 

She feels eyes on her.

“Are you ready, habibti? My father wishes to meet with us first alone.”

Nyssa is in the doorway of their shared quarters. Sara smiles at her. She’s always loved her in her reds. 

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Sara grins. She crosses and kisses Nyssa on the cheek, earning a soft smile in return. 

“You look different.”

“Stop mourning the corset.”

“You cannot make me.”

Sara rolls her eyes. 

“You still look wonderful, of course,” Nyssa says. “I do not miss the wig. Your hair is beautiful.”

“Thank you,” Sara replies as they step into the hall. “And at least this is much easier to get out of than the corset.”

“We should test that theory, later, just in case,” Nyssa says, completely straight-faced. 

“We’re about to go to war, and all you can think about is getting me out of my clothes.”

“Always.”

  
***

  
“I am going to inform them that I, in my infinite mercy and wisdom, returned you to life in the Pit.”

The words certainly take Sara by surprise. Neither she or Nyssa seem capable of forming a response.

“It will lend you authority, and no one will question your loyalty, ever again. And no one need know of the subterfuge you both enacted against me.”

Nyssa opens her mouth to say something, but Ra’s shakes his head.

“No need for apologies neither of you mean, daughter. You each know the price for further deception.” He looks them both over, eyes settling on Sara. “I want you to bring me the body of Al Saher. While I would in the usual course wish to take the life myself, after much pain, the risk of escape in transit is too high. I tire of the Magician’s tricks.”  
Sara had been expecting the order but it still sends a shiver down her back.

“It will be done,” she says easily. 

He looks to Nyssa.

“The rest of the traitors, dead or alive. I would enjoy watching them suffer.”

“Yes, Father.”

“Good,” Ra’s nods, approaching them, putting a hand on each of their outside shoulders. He bows his head and they follow suit. He murmurs the traditional blessing over them, then kisses their foreheads in turn. He says, gleam in his eyes: “Good hunting.”

  
***

  
“What the hell is going on here?” Oliver rages as he weaves between the dozens of League assassins in the Foundry in search of Felicity. He gets to Nyssa and her appraising stare first. There are two hooded assassins at her right. The one on the far side is Maseo/Sar'ab; the one in the center is masked. 

“You are not in danger, Oliver Queen. Felicity invited us,” Nyssa says calmly.

“Oliver…” Felicity begins, apology in her voice.

“What. Is going on?” Oliver repeats more calmly. 

The assassin in the center lowers their mask and hood, and Oliver staggers back.

“Sara,” he breathes. 

“Hi, Ollie.”

“Taer al-Asfer is reborn. She leads the hunt for Al Saher, and she will bring him to justice at the end of a blade,” Sar'ab says. “She carries the mandate of the Demon’s Head himself.”

Oliver looks to Felicity, Laurel, and Thea at the desk; none look surprised. In fact, each is terrifyingly calm. At least behind him, Roy and Dig have caught up and are swearing out their own shock. Dig, though, takes long strides to Sara and pulls her into his arms. 

Sara looks different. Free of the Canary garb, simply dressed in the League standard except, now he notices, a gold scarf at her waist, she appears… free, or at least far, from the demons that hounded her during their time together.

“I named my kid after you," Dig says, astonished.

“I know,” Sara laughs. “I’m sorry. She’s really cute, too. I’ve seen pictures.”

Roy is next, folding Sara into his arms with a “Holy shit.”

“You knew about this?” Oliver asks, head still spinning, turning to Thea, Laurel, and Felicity.

Thea shrugs, Laurel smiles wider than he’s seen in months, and Felicity continues to look a little sheepish.

“How long?” he asks.

“We’ll talk later,” Felicity says quickly, glancing around the crowded basement.

“Yeah, Ollie,” Sara demands his attention, “Shut up and hug me.”

He’s seen enough amazing things to not get _too_ hung up on this surprise, so he does at least pull her into an embrace before demanding more answers. 

“Not too long,” Felicity calls. “Nyssa might shoot you.”

“Stop encouraging her!” Sara yells over his shoulder.

When he pulls away, he repeats, feeling like a broken record, “What’s going on?”

Sara’s shoulders fall back, standing straight.

“I’m not dead. Like Felicity said, we can talk about the hows and whens later. Nyssa and I are here for Merlyn.”

“With half the League of Assassins?” he asks, gesturing to the group around them.

“This is hardly half,” Nyssa says, offended.

Oliver sets his jaw and swallows his retort.

“Can we talk somewhere a little more private?” he asks Sara. He moves to place a hand on her shoulder to guide her away, and every League member in view tenses audibly. Maseo even begins to pull his sword. Oliver takes his hand back.

“Stand down,” Nyssa orders simply, and Maseo slides his sword back into its scabbard.

“They’re a little jumpy,” Sara says casually. She nods to Nyssa and then gestures up. “Let’s talk.”

  
***

  
“You _faked_ \- “

“Shh! Keep your voice down,” Sara orders, glancing back over her shoulder. “That part isn’t common knowledge.”

“To who?”

“The dozens of assassins down there, so shut up,” Sara says. She explained the very basics. There’s no time or need for more.

“You let us believe you were dead,” Oliver says, and she knows he’s angry but so is she.

“Yeah, and while you thought I was dead, you’ve gotten damn cozy with the bastard you thought did it.” She pokes him, hard, in the chest.

“Sara, I- “

“Save it,” she cuts him off. “I’m here on League business. I’m here for that bastard.”

Ollie is giving her that look, the one that screams frustration and anger.

“How can you do this? How can you still serve the League? After everything they’ve done, after all the things you told me, the things that haunt you. Is it just for _her_?”

Sara resists the urge to slug him.

“Yes for _her_ ,” she answers. “Because she loves _all_ of me, Oliver. She knows everything about me and still wants to be with every part of me. I don’t have to hide, or feel less than, or broken. Everything else feels like pretend. Nyssa feels real.”

“She’s a _killer_ , Sara.”

“So am I,” she spits back. “I have done everything Nyssa has, and I chose to do it. I can’t will that away. Because most of the people I killed? They deserved it. I saved more people from being killed or brought closure to a hurting family. Not everyone deserves to live in some sterile, safe prison, Ollie. And no prison is escape-proof.”

“You’re really going to kill Merlyn,” Oliver says, anger in his eyes. “I thought Maseo-“

“Sar'ab.”

“Meant you would bring him to Ra’s. But you’re going to kill him yourself. I thought the killing was too much!”

“He’s dangerous! Sometimes, Ollie, someone just needs to be put down. Sometimes, killing really is the best option. You don’t need to worry your tortured soul about it, though. This one’s on me,” Sara says with a tight smile. Her face turns grim. “This is an easy fix to everyone’s pain. I have Thea’s blessing. If you try to get in my way, though, I will stop you. If Nyssa doesn’t first.”

He looks down and meets the eyes of the Heir to the Demon across the room, and Nyssa inclines her head with a sinister smile.

“Sara, you can’t just- “

“What? I can’t just what? _You_ can’t tell me what to do, Oliver.”

“This is my city.”

“Bullshit. This isn’t about Starling City. This is about the League. This is a war. _I’m_ trying to make sure there’s only one casualty. Did you know Merlyn turned a bunch of League assassins and is holed up with them in a warehouse here in the Glades?”

His petulant silence says he didn’t. 

“The longer it takes me to take out Merlyn, the more dangerous it will be. Have you ever seen the League go to war?”

“No.”

“You don’t want to. This,” she gestures over all the assassins. “Will just be the beginning. So let Nyssa and I take care of it.”

“The Heir and her Beloved,” he says.

“Yes.”

“I know what Beloved means. I’ve always known.”

“Then you always knew how this would end. That I’ve always been hers.”

Oliver looks down.

“So you’re really just Ra’s al Ghul’s weapon now.”

“Better the Demon’s weapon than his enemy. Take the night off, Oliver. We have a plan, but I’m not so sure you’re going to like it. If you want us to go somewhere else, we will.”

“You can stay,” he says. “But I am, too. I won’t get in your way, but I want to know what’s happening in my city.”

“Fair enough.”  
  


***

  
Sara offers Roy the chance to suit up, and he takes it, avoiding Oliver’s eyes.

“Me too,” Dig says easily.

“No,” Sara shakes her head. “Sit this one out, John.”

“Sara.”

“Hey, I have a vested interest in little girls named Sara and their dads. Go home, or we’ll knock you unconscious and take you home.”

Dig looks like he might fight her on this, but he backs down after a minute.

“Thank you,” he says. “Be safe, you hear me? I’m gonna be real mad if you die again.”

“Deal.”

“Felicity, you’ll coordinate from here?” Sara asks.

“Yep, I’ve got earpieces for, well, not all of you. Didn’t think there’d be so many… assassins. I’ve got about a dozen.”

“That should be sufficient,” Nyssa assures her. She turns and issues quick, sharp orders in Arabic for her troops to form into squads.

Felicity makes her rounds, getting Roy, Thea, Laurel, and Nyssa set up with ear pieces. When she gets to Sara, she grins her Felicity grin and tucks Sara’s hair behind her ear.

“You look good without the corset.”

Nyssa huffs, and Sara laughs: “Tell that to her.”

“Alright,” Felicity slips the piece into position. “You’re good to go.”

“Thank you,” Sara says warmly, squeezing Felicity’s shoulder and kissing her cheek. “I feel better knowing you’re in my ear.”

Felicity returns the smile and goes to similarly outfit Nyssa’s lieutenants.

Nyssa raises an eyebrow at the interaction. Sara grins.

“Oh, didn’t I tell you? If you die, Felicity and I are taking all your money and running away together.”

Nyssa tilts her head back and lets out a warm laugh. “I cannot fault your choice. I should ask if she is amenable to a similar arrangement.”

“I’d be okay with that,” Sara nods.

Nyssa’s face turns serious.

“You _will_ be careful, habibti?”

Sara wraps her arms around Nyssa’s neck and looks her in the eye. She feels Nyssa’s gloved hands on her waist.

“Of course. I don’t want Felicity stealing you.”

Nyssa practically snarls. “Be serious.”

“Then I promise to be careful.”

“Good. It would be inconvenient if all our hard work fabricating your death would result in the same outcome we sought to avoid.”

Sara kisses her the way she always has in moments like this: just in case it’s their last, but promising so many more if it isn’t. 

She feels eyes on them, but she doesn’t care, until there’s a familiar whine and then a yelp. With one final press of their foreheads, Sara pulls away.

“Rocket,” she complains. “I’m allowed to pay attention to someone besides you, you know.”

Rocket’s ears twitch speciously.

“Looks like there’s going to be some trouble when your moms are back living together again,” Sin grins nervously, Rocket in her arms, looking around the Arrow Lair with wide eyes.

Nyssa nods to Sin, then says to Sara: “If you’ll give me a moment.” Then more quietly. “See to your girls.” 

“Wow, so, this place is crazy. Even without all the shadowy dudes around. And I mean dudes in the gender neutral sense, of course.”

“Of course,” Sara grins. “You’re gonna stay here with Felicity, okay? Ol - The Arrow will keep you safe.”

“I know Oliver Queen is the Arrow; I’m not dumb, and you guys aren’t subtle.”

“Alright,” Sara laughs. “ _Oliver_ will keep you and Rocket safe. When this is done, you and I are gonna go get some milkshakes and I’ll explain everything.”

“Okay.”

Rocket whines again. Sara scoops her out of Sin’s arms. 

“Hey you. I know this is hard. We spent all our time together until recently. Sin’s gonna keep taking good care of you for a little while longer, though.”

Rocket relaxes a little at Sara’s ear scratches and soft voice.

“She’s really freaking cute,” Sin comments.

“I know,” Sara says. “Problem is she knows it. Sounds like someone I know.” She nudges the girl with her shoulder.

“Hey, right back at you,” Sin blushes.

“Hey, Sara, can I ask - “ 

Rocket starts growling at the intrusion and then starts full on angry barking at Oliver.

“Whoa, hey - uh, what’s that?”

“This is Rocket,” Sara says over the noise.

“I don’t think she likes you very much, Ollie,” Laurel teases, joining them.

Between Sara’s soothing and Laurel’s petting, Rocket calms but still looks warily at Oliver.

“She must get it from Nyssa,” Sin teases.

“What did you want to ask?” Sara asks.

“I-“

Rocket growls again.

“Stop,” Sara scolds. Disgruntled, Rocket does as told, resting her head in the crook of Sara’s elbow.

Oliver gives the pup a confused glance but pushes on.

“Thea seems to be under the impression that she’s coming with you.”

As if on cue, an annoyed Thea joins them, Nyssa close behind.

“Oh, she is,” Sara agrees, ready for this. “I told you you wouldn’t like the plan.”

Oliver juts his jaw. 

“I won’t let her participate in her father’s murder.”

“Oh?” Sara hands Rocket off to Laurel. “You won’t _let_ her? She’s an adult, Oliver.”

“Thank you!” Thea cries. “And he’s _not_ my father.”

“Thea, listen to me, I know you’re angry but - “

“Oh shut up, Ollie. He had sex with our mom and happened to produce me. That’s it. That’s the end of it. Okay? I asked Sara to do this. If you think I’m making a mistake, fine. Let me make my own mistakes.”

Oliver looks around, looks like he’ll fight again, but then Felicity’s hand is on his shoulder.

“They all care about her,” she gestures to the group surrounding them, which now includes Roy. “They will have her back, and she kicks a lot of ass on her own. I know you’re scared, but that doesn’t give you the right to be a jerk.”

Oliver deflates.

“Fine.”

“Good,” Sara says. “I didn’t want to have to knock you out.” She looks to Nyssa. “Everything ready?”

Nyssa nods.

“Great. Everyone suit up; it’s time to kidnap Thea.”  
  
***  
  


tbc


	10. Chapter 10

“Nice outfit,” Sara says conversationally.

This is the waiting part. Nyssa and Thea (who is an impressive actor) made the ransom call, and now they, with a dozen League members, Roy hidden among them, wait in an old, abandoned textile factory.

The rest of them are hidden throughout the building, including Sara, Laurel, and the ten assassins hanging in the rafters. 

“Thanks,” Laurel smiles. “I made some changes.”

“Looks good. That’s a lot of buckles, though.”

“Says the girl who fought regularly in a corset.”

“Jeez, everybody has so many strong feelings about the corset,” Sara complains.

“You rocked it,” Laurel promises. 

Sara smirks.

“I think I’m starting to like your girlfriend. Me poisoning and mom kidnapping aside.”

“Thanks?” Sara laughs.

“She pretty much looks at you like you are the greatest thing that’s ever existed. And she kept you alive. So she’s okay in my book.”

“Thanks,” Sara says again, more genuinely, eyes drifting down to Nyssa. She has Thea tied up, but they seem to be making casual conversation. 

“You’re probably never going to live in Starling again, are you?” Laurel asks, a tinge of sadness in her voice.

“No,” Sara apologizes, “But we’ll visit a lot. I promise.”

Laurel nods. “Hey, what’s with the braid-cord thingies on the shoulder? I’ve never seen these guys wear it before.”

“Oh, well, Merlyn’s got defectors with him. We didn’t want any friendly fire or confusion.”

“Huh. Red and gold.” Laurel’s gaze finds the gold scarf as Sara’s waist. “You’re kind of a big deal now, aren’t you?”

“Psh,” Sara scoffs. “I’ve always been a big deal. Since birth.”

“We’ve got movement on the southeast corner. Everyone hold position and get ready.”

Felicity’s voice cuts through any small talk. 

“And it’s not raccoons this time, is it?”

“No, Sara.”

“Just checking,” Laurel adds.

“I’m so glad we have two snarky Canaries now,” Felicity shoots back.

Sara hears Nyssa’s chuckle over the line.

“Hey, Sara,” Laurel asks. “How are we getting down from here?”

Sara nods to the assassin to Laurel’s right as she unties her own scarf and readies for the descent.

“Hold on tight to him.”

“Oh great.”  
  


***

  
“You are your own person,” Nyssa says to the young Thea Queen. “Your blood does not determine your destiny unless you embrace it.”

Thea’s expressive eyes cross to her.

“That’s kinda weird to hear from you.”

Nyssa shrugs.

“I am my father’s daughter by blood, yes, but he also raised me. And I chose to embrace his teachings. I am his Heir by force of my own will. I merely seek to tell you that Merlyn’s role in your conception has only the weight you give it.”

“Okay,” Thea says. “Thanks.”

“You are welcome. You are very impressive, you know.”

“So are you,” Thea says.

“Thank you. Al Saher trained you well enough. Should you ever wish to complete that training and serve a higher purpose, you are welcome in the League. Sara and I would train you ourselves.”

“Wow. Okay. I think I’m liking the idea of _no_ purpose for a little bit.”

“Of course. The invitation is open should you ever wish to use it.”

“Okay.”

“We’ve got movement on the southeast corner. Everyone hold position and get ready.”

Felicity’s voice rings in their ears. 

“And it’s not raccoons this time, is it?”

“No, Sara.”

“Just checking.”

“I’m so glad we have two snarky Canaries now.”

Nyssa chuckles lightly. She reaches into a pouch at her belt and removes a few small bits of cotton. 

“This will not help much in the ear with the audio piece, but some protection is better than none,” she says, gently tucking the bits into Thea’s ears. “You will thank me later.”

“Uh, what?” Thea asks as Nyssa slips her own cotton in and readies her knife. 

“I believe both Canaries cry now,” she says with no further explanation. “I will cut your bindings as soon as possible. There is a sword a meter behind you, and I believe your boyfriend has an extra for you aswell. I will not allow any harm to come to you, but keep your wits about you all the same.”

“Alright.”

“Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

There’s a slim hope Merlyn will simply trade himself for Thea, but Al Saher has never been very self-sacrificing. Those who believe the world revolves around them rarely lay down themselves for others. And Sara will kill him all the same. Nyssa recognized the look in her eyes as they left the Foundry; she will not be stopped until the Traitor’s life is ended.

Nyssa stands tall, hand firmly on Thea’s shoulder, as the door opens and Merlyn and his followers (close to full force, but not quite) enter, bows drawn.

“Stand down, Al Saher,” Nyssa orders, even as the assassins around her all level their own weapons on the advancing numbers. Nyssa herself has only her knife, held casually at Thea’s throat. “This can end without further bloodshed.”

“Except my own,” Al Saher says.

Nyssa shrugs. “You must have known my father would neither forgive or forget. You must have known this would end in your death eventually, or you would not have moved against us. Lower your weapon. Turn yourself over. We have your daughter.”

“Why should I turn myself over to you when you’ll just kill her anyway?” Merlyn asks, close enough now that she can see his shifty eyes.

“I will not,” Nyssa says evenly.

“And why not? Have you suddenly learned mercy? She killed your Beloved!”

Nyssa feels the smirk come, unbidden.

“She did not.”

Sara seems to know her cue when she hears it.

The Canary cries pierce the air, and a few of Merlyn’s traitors drop their bows to guard their ears. Each cry has a slightly different frequency, which only adds to their potency. Even Nyssa, most used to these measures, winces. Nyssa quickly pulls her knife down to cut Thea’s bindings as the air fills with scarfs and descending assassins. Bo in hand, Sara lands within a few meters of Merlyn and charges him, even as arrows fly and a battle breaks out around them.

  
***

  
He ducks her first blow, but just barely. The surprise is evident on his face.

“How- “ he asks, grunting as her next blow hits his gut.

“You’re not the only one who’s hard to kill,” Sara grits, dodging the return slash from his bow, and feeling the glance of the end of it on her elbow. She catches the next on her bo and sends both weapons crashing down into his shin, hard. He staggers, but recovers enough to bring a kick into her thigh, sending her back. With a few feet between them, the Magician pulls another of his tricks, exploding into a smoke bomb and escaping out of her reach.

One of his soldiers is on her then, before she can run after him, and she sweeps out the back of his legs only for him to fall with an arrow in the chest. She looks back and knows it is Nyssa before she even sees her. She heads toward her with a grin, knocking out a charging traitor on her way.

“Thanks, babe, but I had him,” she says, gesturing for Nyssa to duck so she can shove the butt of her bo into the assassin behind her. Nyssa spins out of the duck and plants her sword in the man’s gut.

"I am sure you did, habibti."

The rest of Merlyn’s lackeys are retreating after their cowardly leader.

“Guys?” Felicity says over the line. “Some ninja looking people are making trouble at a movie theater at the edge of the Glades. Civilian threatening trouble.”

“I thought his numbers seemed a little short,” Nyssa says. “We are not ninjas, Felicity.”

“Sorry.”

“He’s trying to distract us,” Sara says. “We’ve gotta sends ours after them. The rest of us will track that rat down. 

Nyssa nods.

“They do not know the terrain.”

“Roy will take them,” Sara says. “They should protect the civilians and capture as many traitors as possible. Thea, Laurel, it’s your choice.”

The women in question find them in the quieting factory. Both of Thea’s swords are stained with blood, and Laurel still holds the bo firmly, if a little awkwardly. 

“I’m with you,” Laurel says.

“Me too,” Thea nods.

“I want to go with you,” Roy says, shedding his League hood.

“Sorry,” Sara shakes her head. “I need you to go with the League and take care of this diversion. Please.”

“Go on, Roy,” Thea encourages. “The city needs Arsenal. I’ll be fine.”

Roy accepts this with a nod. 

Nyssa orders the gathered League members to form up and follow “the small one”. Sara snorts.

“What?” Roy asks. “What did she say?”

“Nothing,” Sara laughs. “They’ll follow you. Kick some ass. You don’t have to kill anyone you don’t want to.”

Roy nods again. 

“Sar'ab,” Sara calls to Nyssa’s right-hand man. “You’re with us. Let’s go.”

  
***

  
“He’s taking the long way, but I think he’s headed back to the warehouse,” Felicity tells them.

“Perhaps he does not know we are aware of it,” Nyssa posits. They’re on foot. The warehouse is close enough not to warrant the noise that an arrival via motorcycle would have brought, though Nyssa had to convince Sara of that earlier when they were making the plan.

“Or he’s not worried about us following him there. Everyone stay on alert,” Sara says. She hears familiar barking over the line. “Felicity, tell Ollie to stop annoying Rocket.”

“I would,” Felicity laughs lightly. “But then he’d have to leave altogether. Which he wants to do anyway, but I won’t let him, because he let Merlyn into our secret lair in the first place and it is not safe toleave us alone here. Basically, Rocket hates him. Right now? I’m kinda Team Rocket.”

“Isn’t that a Pokemon thing?” Thea asks.

“I think it is!” Sara agrees. “Even better visual.”

“You guys talk a lot more than Oliver does on these type of things,” Felicity comments. “Three blocks up and to the left.”

“Well, Merlyn knows I’m coming for him. Stealth’s not exactly necessary. Plus, in case anyone forgot, I’ve had no one to talk to besides Rocket for six months.”

“We’ve heard,” Laurel deadpans, earning a small laugh from Nyssa. Sara makes a note to herself about how dangerous, for her, that alliance would be.

“Don’t make me regret bringing you along, Dinah Laurel Lance.”

Nyssa holds up a hand from her place at the front with Sar'ab. They all pause instantly and duck into an alley, proving that for all their chattiness, everyone of them is on high alert. An SCPD patrol car rolls by. Once it is out of sight, they head off again.

The warehouse is eerily quiet when they arrive. Sara stops them at the door.

“Merlyn is known for his tricks. Don’t trust anything.” She looks especially to Laurel and Thea. Sar'ab and Nyssa can handle themselves.

Nyssa goes first, eyes scanning every inch of the poorly lit expanse. Lightning quick, she nocks an arrow and fires it into a stack of boxes twenty yards to their left. It explodes. She fires three more, and Sar'ab joins her to take out another two. Half of them explode, the others trigger hidden arrows, which criss-cross the room.

“That’s all I can see for now,” Nyssa turns to Sara. Sar'ab nods his confirmation. “But that is unlikely to be the last of them.”

“Mhmm,” Sara says thoughtfully, reaching to slip a knife from Nyssa’s belt and whipping it through what appears to be just the air, ten yards in front of them. The knife slices a line and six knives shoot across to clatter harmlessly against a tarp-covered forklift. She smiles sweetly. “You missed one.”

“Has she always been this insufferable?” Nyssa asks Laurel, and Sara continues to grin, delighted.

“Always.”

The next arrow is actually fired by a person, and it comes whizzing straight for Laurel. Thea cuts it out of the air before it hits her as Nyssa and Sar'ab return fire.

“This really shows me that if you want something done right, you have to do it yourself,” Merlyn calls down from the catwalks above, seven traitors spread around all of it. 

Sara and the rest duck behind the forklift for cover. 

“I don’t always love getting my hands dirty, though. You live, you learn.”

“Enjoy that living for a couple more minutes, Merlyn,” Sara yells up to him. “That’s all you got. I swore to the Demon that I would bring him your corpse.”

“I’m not sure I should my shaking in my boots just ‘cause Ra’s sent his daughter’s pet canary after me. But, little yellow bird, catch me if you can.”

Sara growls and slides out from behind the forklift, Nyssa instinctively providing cover fire. Merlyn is running again, and Sara is getting pretty damn sick of it. She assumes the rest will follow her when they can, but she’s got her eyes on the prize. She reaches the stairs and climbs them two at a time, but Merlyn’s already gone and his goons are on her.

They’re good, of course. They’re League-trained. But she’s reached another level of focus, not reached since Slade and mirakuru thugs, and these guys are just road blocks. With two hands on the railing, she swings around and lands her feet in the first attacker’s chest, throwing him over.

“Sara, down,” Nyssa calls from behind her, and Sara throws herself into a slide down the grates of the catwalk as Nyssa puts two arrows in the chest of the second attacker. Behind her, Thea, Laurel, and Sar'ab duel with three others. The bo is a little unwieldy in the small space, so she breaks it down into the two batons. 

She flips the third attacker over her shoulder. It won’t disable the woman, but it lets her vault over her and leave her for Nyssa to deal with. The fourth and final of Merlyn’s goons gives her a longer battle, of the circling variety, but Sara relishes the challenge.

Her vantage point allows her to watch the others defeat their marks and Nyssa go rounds with her, while Sara staves off sword blows with her batons. Nyssa’s mark is impressive. Their sword battle takes them down an offshoot of the catwalk, generally in the direction Merlyn disappeared, before Nyssa finally gets her sword in the woman’s gut. Sara ducks one of her attacker’s slashes and hits him hard in the knee. He stumbles, and Sara looks up in time to watch Nyssa pull her sword out of the traitor and back up. Into a trip wire.

“Nyssa!” Sara cries as the booby-trap puts two arrows in Nyssa’s knee and shoulder and she crumples. Sara swings one of her batons into the final assailant’s head and he falls. Then she sprints to her, batons clattering to the ground as she drops beside her, taking her in her arms. 

“I will live, habibti,” Nyssa assures, though she is bleeding more than Sara would like. 

“Well you can’t walk these off.”

“No,” Nyssa chuckles weakly. “Take your sister and kill the Magician.”

Thea, Laurel, and Sar'ab have caught up with them now, and Sara looks up to Thea. 

“Get her to Felicity.” She turns to Sar'ab. “Go with them.”

“We are to hunt-“

“Sar'ab! That’s an order!”

It comes out of her so quickly and forcefully that she surprises even herself.

Sar'ab nods, declining his head deferentially.

“As you wish, Taer al-Asfer.”

“Good. Thea can’t haul Nyssa and defend them, too. Nyssa’s too heavy.”

“You will pay for that later,” Nyssa groans.

“I’m so scared,” Sara grins, kissing Nyssa briefly. “Let Sar'ab carry you. It’ll be fastest.”

She nods to Sar'ab, who leans down to take Nyssa from her arms.

“She’s very bossy,” Nyssa notes to Sar'ab as he picks her up, and that’s when Sara knows the blood loss is getting to her a little. As much as they like Sar'ab, that isn’t usually the way she speaks to subordinates.

Sara stands and turns to Thea. “Watch your back and go fast.”

Thea nods, swords held with lethal ease and eyes scanning the surrounding area.

“Just don’t let him get away.”

“I promise.”

They take off towards the Foundry, and she feels Laurel’s gaze on her while she watches her heart go and tells herself that Nyssa has had much worse.

“What?” she finally turns back to Laurel.

“Nothing, General Canary,” Laurel grins.

“Shut up,” Sara rolls her eyes. “Let’s go. Felicity? Tell me there wasn’t a helicopter on the roof.”

“No, no helicopter. Is Nyssa okay?”

“She will be. Get her stitched up for me, will you?”

“You’ve got it. From what my cameras tell me, Merlyn is still in the building somewhere.”

“We’ll find him.”

Sara reaches into the back of her tunic and pulls out the handgun that had been her main protection in the days when she’d been too injured to protect herself. She hands it to Laurel, grip first. 

“Just in case,” she says. “If something happens to me, put a bullet between his eyes, okay?”

“I’m not going to need-“

“Just in case, Laurel,” Sara says, eyes earnest. “Please.”

“Fine.” Laurel takes the gun easily, checks the safety, then tucks it in the small of her back. 

“Thank you.”

“Okay, enough mushy stuff,” Laurel huffs. “Let’s go kick his ass.”  
  


***

tbc


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Per this wonderful tumblr post (http://a-windsor.tumblr.com/post/118287715441/theflashismysuperhero-dear-fellow-arrowheads), I've changed the Arabic transliterations for this chapter. The rest of the chapters will be edited accordingly in the future. 
> 
> Thank you so much for all of your amazing support and feedback. 
> 
> This is the final chapter! But an epilogue is coming in the near future!

After a chase through the second level mechanical rooms and offices, the Lance sisters corner Malcolm Merlyn on the roof.

“This is the best the Demon's Head can send me? The ever upwardly mobile Lance sisters, climbing the social ladder on their backs,” he sneers, bow drawn. 

Sara casually triggers the sonic device Laurel calls the Canary cry. Merlyn flinches and the shot goes wide. She throws a knife that lands in his upper thigh to slow him down, and then they’re on him. He throws his bow aside in favor of his sword, and he is a formidable opponent. He joined the League when Nyssa was still a child and rose quickly through the ranks. And as much Sara appreciates Laurel’s help, she isn’t quite ready for _this_ , and worrying about her is slowing her down.

Sara catches his sword on her bo after the three have traded a few dozen blows and manages to get just the right leverage to twist the sword (and his wrists) at an unnatural angle, sending the sword clattering across the roof. It leaves her open to the punch, though, glancing right across the jaw, and it knocks her down, seeing stars.

Laurel swings her bo and slams him across the back, which only seems to piss him off more. Laurel is, unfortunately, no match for Al Saher yet, even unarmed and injured. He has her on the ground, bleeding, in seconds, as Sara regains her wits and pulls herself to her feet. Merlyn lands a few kicks in Laurel’s ribs, drawing an agonizing moan, and is reaching for an arrow from his quiver when he senses

Sara’s blow and turns to block it. She anticipates his reaction and redirects her swing. The force and angle of it shatter his wrist, and he cries out. The arrow falls from his hand.

“Pick on someone your own size, huh?” she grits. 

She ducks to pick up the arrow and, after dodging a few of his angry, lashing hits, she buries it in his shoulder then spins her bo into his knee. That leg gives and he drops onto his injured knee with a groan. She punches him square in the face, bo in hand, and feels his jaw shatter.

His uninjured hand fumbles at his belt for a knife, and he manages to get to one before she can stop him. His slash stings across her stomach enough to draw blood and not much more, and she catches the offending hand. With a swift twist, she breaks at least three fingers. She takes the knife and drives it into the thigh of the leg whose knee cap she shattered seconds earlier. 

Merlyn knows the end is close.

“Please,” he sputters. “Please, Sara. You’re not like them. You’re not really one of them.”

She pulls her bo around at her throat, a probably unnecessary headlock, since she doesn’t think he could go anywhere no matter how hard he tried.

“I am. That’s where you’re wrong. I serve the League. I am the Will of the Demon and the Beloved of his Heir. I bring you justice, Al Saher. For your crimes against the League, against this city, against your family, and against me.”

“It wasn’t personal,” he says, spitting out blood.

Her bo is tight against his Adam’s apple.

“You thought I was disposable,” she hisses. “You threw me away, treated me like a pawn in your sick game. I am _no one’s_ pawn.”

“But,” he rasps, “Thea.”

“I have her blessing. In fact, she asked me to.”

He groans and struggles against her hold fruitlessly.

“You should count yourself lucky,” Sara says lowly. “You’re gonna die on this rooftop and not in the dungeons of Nanda Parbat. You get to die under the same stars as your wife and son, on a roof not much different from the one where you tried to murder me and start a war between Ra’s and Nyssa. I think you underestimated how much the Demon’s Head likes me.” She switches into Arabic for the traditional:

“Do you have any final words before your soul meets the Demon’s justice?”

Merlyn starts to speak, but doesn’t get the chance.

She knows he's there, even before his boots hit the roof. She sighs.

"Sara, don't do this. You're better than this.”

“Did you leave Felicity and Sin unprotected?” Sara demands.

“Nyssa and Sar’ab were almost there,” a hooded Oliver Queen defends.

“Nyssa is bleeding!” Sara growls. “They’re vulnerable. If something happens to one of them, I’ll kill you, too.”

Sara realizes then that she can’t hear anything from the Foundry and focuses on her ear. Nothing. Must have fallen out when Merlyn clocked her. 

“They’re fine,” Oliver insists. “Please, I’ll hand him over to SCPD or ARGUS, or put him on Lian Yu. Whatever you want.”

Sara sighs and adjusts her grip on Merlyn.

“We have been over this, Oliver. That’s not an option. Go home if you don’t want to watch. He is a monster.”

“Your master is a monster,” Oliver argues. “This is just revenge.”

“In my world, revenge is justice. He will never stop. Never. He will plot and manipulate and slip out of your grasp just to bite you again. How many people you love does he have to hurt before you stop defending him?”

“I’m not defending him. I’m trying to save you.”

“I don’t need saving!”

“Shoot her, Oliver,” Merlyn croaks.

“Shut up,” Sara barks, tightening her bo so his breath comes harder.

“I used to think killing was the best way, but I’ve learned that-“

Suddenly, Oliver's cut off and hits the roof, unconscious. Barely holding herself up, Laurel stands above him, bo in hand. 

"He deserved that," she breathes through broken ribs. 

"So did you," Sara grins grimly.

Laurel nods and collapses against a vent again. 

“No one left to save you, Merlyn. So, last words?”

Merlyn looks up at the sky. She can see it in his eyes, a look she’s seen so many times before. He’s accepted the inevitability of his death. Sara takes a deep breath and says in solemn League Arabic:

“Al Saher, your crimes against the League are innumerable and are all of the highest treason. I deliver your soul for judgment.” She pauses and adds in English, “You should have stayed hidden in your rathole. The world will be a better place without your poison.”

With a swift, strong wrench of her bo, Sara snaps Malcolm Merlyn’s neck and ends his life.

  
***

  
His death is quiet and instantaneous, better than he deserved, and she drops his body onto the dirty surface of the roof, looking up into the same stars Merlyn watched when he met his fate.

“Is it done?” Laurel asks after a few silent minutes. 

“Probably.” Sara looks to her. Laurel’s face is bloodied and already swollen, and she clutches her ribs with an agony familiar to Sara. They should check her for internal injuries later, but she looks like she’ll be okay, after a painful recovery. “You never know with the Magician.”

“Here,” Laurel says, wincing and groaning as she reaches for the handgun. “Just in case.”

Sara laughs grimly and takes it. She turns around and puts two bullets between Merlyn’s corpse’s eyes. Just in case.

“You have your earpiece still?” Sara asks.

Laurel shakes her head, but squints. “I think one of ours is behind you, though.”

Sara spots it, too, crouching for it and feeling, even dully, the extent of her injuries. Definitely not as bad as Laurel. She slips the piece into her ear. 

“Felicity?”

“Oh my god, Sara, are you okay? Is everyone okay?”

“Everyone but Merlyn. Did Nyssa make it to you?”

“I am here, habibti,” Nyssa says. It’s an open line, so neither says everything they want to. “Is it done?”

“It’s done,” Sara confirms. “The movie theater?”

“Cleaning up now,” Felicity reports. “A few civilian injuries, no casualties.”

“Good. Can you redirect a little help here? I’ve got a dead Magician, a roughed up Canary, and an unconscious Arrow on my hands.”

“Unconscious?” Felicity asks. “How did that happen?”

“It’s a long story.”

“I did it!” Laurel calls, still slumped against the vent.

“Or not. Laurel wants you know she did it.”

Nyssa chuckles.

“Good. Maybe she knocked some sense into him,” Felicity says. “Sar’ab is on his way. I’ve redirected a couple of your League people to help. Sin and Rocket are fine, and I’m stitching up your grumpy girlfriend as we speak.”

“Nyssa, be good.”

“Of course.”

“Uh huh. We’ll see you soon.”

Sara takes out the earpiece and slips it in her pocket, stooping for Laurel’s bo.

“I take it back,” Sara pants, helping her sister to her feet and handing over her weapon. “You only get to keep the name if you let me teach you how to actually swing this thing.”

Laurel laughs and collapses onto her sister, half-hug, half-exhaustion.

“I love you, Sara. You’re my hero.”

“Well, what a coincidence.” Sara kisses her sister's forehead. "I wish we had a camera so we could take a picture with unconscious Ollie."

"Best. Selfie. Ever."

  
***

  
Everyone is anxious to see her when they get back to the Foundry, but she makes a beeline for Nyssa, who is seated at the edge of the lighted table where they once laid Sara’s mostly dead body. Nyssa’s right arm is in a sling, and her left pant leg has been cut away, a white bandage wrapped around her upper thigh. 

Sara immediately drops her bo beside her and reaches up to take her face in her hands. She pushes up on her toes and kisses her, soft and slow, before resting her forehead against hers. Nyssa’s good hand grabs into the back of her thick tunic.

“Don’t scare me like that,” Sara whispers.

“I apologize,” Nyssa murmurs back. “You did well, Taer Al-Asfer.”

Sara brushes her nose against Nyssa’s. 

“I did what had to be done. For us.”

A throat clears behind them before Nyssa can respond, and Sara turns to see Laurel, looking annoyed but amused, in Oliver’s arms. The two made up, somewhat, when Oliver came to before Sar’ab got there with the van, and Laurel made him carry her back to the Foundry.

“Broken ribs get preference. Go make out somewhere else,” Laurel big-sisters.

Sara laughs and gently helps Nyssa down and tucks under her good shoulder to help her walk. She nods to Oliver, knowing there will be another talk, later.

A familiar bark demands Sara’s attention. 

“Sarookh has been anxious for you to return,” Nyssa tells her. 

A sheepishly grinning Sin sets Rocket down, and she sprints through the crowded Foundry. Sin hurries after her, but Rocket clearly beats her, jumping up at Sara’s knee. 

“One sec, Rocket, one sec,” Sara laughs, feeling the easy joy Rocket’s exuberance always brings. Sin joins them, and Sara motions to Nyssa. “Can you…”

“Oh, yeah!” Sin takes her place a little awkwardly, propping Nyssa up. “You sure we can’t get you anything? Not even Advil?”

“No, thank you,” Nyssa smiles kindly. “I’ve had worse.”

“Yeah, and I’ve been dead,” Sara quips, scooping Rocket into her arms and getting rewarded with a full face licking, a tiny tail beating against her arm. 

“So competitive,” Nyssa complains playfully, and Sin laughs. Sara grins, enjoying the growing comfort between these two.

“Come on, Rocket, let’s go see how Aunt Laurel and Aunt Felicity are doing.”

A long stream of curses only a cop’s daughter could string together so effortlessly answers her question.

“Aw, my - ow - puppy niece,” Laurel grin/grimaces as Felicity pokes, prods, and portable ultrasounds her torso.

“Rocket Dog,” Felicity greets warmly. “Thanks for helping me hold down the fort.”

“Sarookh is in fact a dog and not a person,” Nyssa notes.

“Don’t let her pretend she doesn’t love Rocket,” Felicity counters to Sara. “I saw her actively petting and even kissing Rocket earlier.”

“I also witnessed this event,” Sin conforms.

“Must have been the blood loss,” Nyssa sniffs.

“Nah, I think it’s her Oliver-hatred,” Sin grins.

“I’m right here,” Oliver objects.

Rocket lets out a little growl, and Sara quiets her with a laugh.

“What’s the prognosis, Dr. Smoak?”

“Well, while reiterating that I am not a medical professional, I’m pretty sure it’s just the nasty bruises and four fractured ribs.”

“Asshole,” Laurel swears.

“I’ll wrap them up,” Felicity smiles sympathetically. 

“You think maybe you could introduce me to your whole agreement with pain thing?” Laurel asks.

“Not yet,” Sara says, faux-solemnly. “Suffer through it, Padawan.”

“Nice reference,” Felicity grins.

“You two are such nerds,” Laurel complains.

“Taer al-Asfer,” Sar’ab’s voice reaches her. “Nyssa.”

“Keep an eye on Aunt Laurel,” Sara instructs Rocket, putting her down on the table. “Stay.”

She switches places with Sin and helps her Beloved over to meet Sar’ab among the assassins patching up each other’s injuries.

“Al Saher’s corpse is loaded in the van, with two posted guards at all times, as you ordered. The message has been sent to the American compound, and a response from the Demon is expected shortly,” Sar’ab reports. 

“Casualties?” Nyssa asks.

“Four of our own dead, one with wounds that will require serious recovery, ten minor injuries. Sixteen of theirs dead, three seriously injured but stable, a few other assorted injuries. The captives have been taken to the Starling safe house until further instruction is given.”

“Good,” Sara nods. “You okay, Sar’ab?”

“Yes,” Sar’ab affirms. “The Heir is well?”

“My recovery should not be loo long,” Nyssa assures him. “I am grateful for your assistance.”

“My loyalty is to the Demon, but it is my honor to serve his Heir.” Sar’ab bows. “Taer al-Asfer, you are bleeding.”

“What?” Nyssa demands.

Sara looks down, remembering. She fingers her stomach through the hole in her tunic.

“It’s nothing,” Sara assures them “Barely more than a scratch. I’ll have Felicity bandage it up when she’s done with Laurel.

“Or, I could do it?” Thea offers tentatively behind her, Roy at her side.

“Yeah,” Sara smiles, recognizing what Thea needs and transferring Nyssa to Sar’ab.

“Perhaps a crutch would serve this same purpose with more dignity,” Nyssa huffs. 

“Yeah, I could go see if I can find you one,” Roy offers, dashing off.

“I hear the ‘short one’ fought well,” Sar’ab notes in Arabic.

“If he has won the respect of our fighters and the esteem of Ms. Queen, perhaps there is something worthy in him,” Nyssa notes in the same language.

Sara smirks and follows Thea into a quieter corner, stripping her layers down to her sports bra. 

“You doing okay?” she asks as Thea dabs hydrogen peroxide on some cotton balls.

“I should be asking you that,” Thea notes wryly. “You’re the one with the eight-inch gash on your stomach.”

“It’s really not that bad,” Sara shrugs. “It’s just a - “

“Don’t you dare make that reference. It’s too easy.”

Sara laughs.

“Okay. _Thank you_ , for getting Nyssa to safety.”

“She’d do the same for me,” Thea shakes her head, taking the disinfectant to the long wound, deeper than a scratch but not even in need of stitches. Sara’s a little surprised by how true that statement is. Nyssa seems to have developed a soft spot for Oliver’s younger sister.

“Okay, last time I’m asking and then I’ll leave you be: how are you doing?” Sara asks gently as she holds the gauze in place for Thea to tape and then wrap. 

“I’m…” Thea sighs. “Fine? Do you think I could see the body? Make sure it’s real?”

“Of course. I’ll take you back myself, give me a little bit, okay?”

Thea nods.

“Did he suffer?”

“Not as much as he deserved,” Sara answers honestly. “But I broke a few bones.”

“And Ollie tried to stop you?”

“Yeah.”

Thea doesn’t look up from her delicate wrapping.

“Why? Why can’t he just listen to us? Even if it upsets him, why can’t he respect our decisions?”

“I don’t know.” Sara pauses. “Your brother protects and saves people so much, and it’s all he’s done since he’s gotten back. Maybe he’s forgotten how to interact with people in other ways.”

“Yeah…” 

“Doesn’t forgive the bullshit,” Sara adds. “We all have things we’ve gotta work through, and I’m not enlightened or anything. I just happen to have had a lot of time to think recently.”

Thea grins softly: “We’ve heard.”

“Just talk to him, but don’t put up with anything you don’t want to.”

“Got it.”

“Laurel hit him pretty hard,” Sara notes.

“Maybe the concussion was helpful?” Thea offers playfully.

“We can hope.”  
  
***  
  
“Where are my girls?”

Her father bursts into the Foundry, and Sara can’t stop laughing. Oliver is sputtering, her dad is saying “Oh, I know you’re the Arrow, Queen, I’m not an idiot”, and Rocket is barking out her excitement from her place on the table between Laurel and Sara.

Lance hugs his girls, frets over Laurel, gives Rocket some love, and then turns to Nyssa on her single crutch, brow furrowed:

“You okay?”

“I will heal, Captain,” Nyssa assures him.

“Good,” he nods, and Sara beams at them both.

“Those your guys cleaned up that theater business?”

“Yes.”

“Thanks.”

“It was as much Sara’s command as mine.”

“Still, thanks.”

“You are welcome.”

He looks back to his daughters. Laurel is reclined on the table with a few jackets keeping her comfy, and Sara is perched next to her hip, Rocket lying with her face in Sara’s lap.

“Hey, you want that money back?” Quentin asks Sara, who laughs.

“Oh, believe me. There’s plenty more where that came from. Buy yourself something nice.”

Quentin rolls his eyes. 

“You two will be the death of me.”

“Don’t say that,” Sara scolds.

“Yeah, not funny,” Laurel complains.

“It wasn’t a joke. Look at your face, Laurel.”

“I’ll heal,” Laurel promises. “Though this nothing heavier than Tylenol thing sucks.”

“Why do you both have to run around the city risking your lives?” he demands.

“Oh, I can’t imagine where we get that from,” Laurel snarks.

“Yeah, no idea,” Sara echoes.

“Okay, okay. You win.” He kisses the top of each of their heads. “Well, since I’m still pretty rich, who wants Big Belly Burger?”

  
***

  
Laurel and her dad introduce Nyssa to their super gross “french fry in milkshake” tastes, and the fact that she _likes_ it is just the final nail in the coffin.

“Ugh, no. Just no!”

The Foundry basement is full of Verdant’s furniture, and Quentin brought burgers, fries, and shakes for _everyone_ , including the League soldiers. Sara and Nyssa had been occupying a collection of chairs (a few for sitting, one to prop Nyssa’s leg) but Sara stands, disgusted. 

“I don’t have to watch this corruption,” she announces, and all three of them, plus Felicity, laugh at her. She turns to call Rocket to her, but she looks pretty comfy in the Thea/Roy/Sin pow wow that she thinks again.

Instead, she heads up above, where Oliver is sulking (okay, maybe not, but probably) and slurping on a chocolate shake.

“The League of Assassins is eating french fries in my basement,” he deadpans.

Sara laughs a little. 

“My family just taught Nyssa to dip her fries in a milkshake.” She shudders.

“That’s delicious.”

“You’re all monsters.”

They make eye contact, acknowledging all that’s passed in the last six months.

“How’s your head?” she asks.

“Bit of a lump, but otherwise okay.” 

He sits on the railing, and she climbs up beside him.

“Laurel hits hard.”

“Tell me about it.”

“You know, Ollie, you can feel whatever you want about me, but I hope to still call you my friend, no matter what.”

“Always, Sara,” he promises. 

“It’s gonna take awhile for me to forgive you for the way you handled Merlyn, though. It’s probably gonna take Thea time, too.”

“Yeah. It’s gonna take me time to be okay with… what happened up there.”

Sara shrugs.

“Okay. I don’t know why or how you developed this habit of talking down to the people you love, especially women, but it’s getting worse, Oliver. These are your friends and family. Listen to what they aresaying and respect it. Our whole lone wolf secretive thing is not the path to happiness. Learn to work as part of a team, you big lug, ‘cause you’ve got a pretty awesome one. Plus, now that she’s done it once, I don’t think Laurel is going to hesitate to hit you again.” 

She nudges his shoulder with hers.

“No, she won’t,” Oliver laughs. “Did you learn this wisdom in the hallowed halls of Nanda Parbat?”

“Nah,” Sara grins, “Small house in Coast City, six months with only a cute dog for company.”

“That dog hates me.”

“Well, you’re an ass. Work on it.”

Oliver laughs again, mostly through his nose. 

“You’ve always been such a brat.”

“That is also true,” Sara chuckles. “Hey Ollie? Felicity loves you. You love her. If you can learn to let people in and be more than just the Arrow, you two can be really happy together.”

“A man cannot live by two names,” he intones.

“Bullshit.” Sara punches his shoulder. “I have two names, and I’ve made peace with both of them.”

“You’re not a man.”

“Thank you, Captain Obvious. It’s clearly a gender-neutral ‘man’ in the stupid saying.”

“Oh, okay.”

“Ass. Get your shit together and then ask her out.”

“Fine. You’re a brat.”

“So you’ve said,” Sara grins.

“She really makes you happy, doesn’t she?” he asks as he slings an arm over her shoulder.

“The happiest.”

An arrow buzzes over their heads, narrowly missing Oliver, and they both turn to look down below. 

“Nyssa!” Sara complains. Her Beloved, Rocket adorably in her lap, shrugs as best she can with her winged arm, and she obviously didn’t fire the shot, but Sara knows she is behind it.

“Thea?!” Oliver cries, and Sara looks over to where Thea is standing with Roy’s bow  held at the ready, grinning. Thea spreads her arms, bow in hand, and shrugs. 

“Did you put her up to that?” Sara calls down to Nyssa. 

“It was an excellent shot,” Nyssa praises, nodding her congratulations to Thea. “I thought it would be poor form to actually hit Mr. Queen. Today.”

“Your girlfriend is going to kill me,” Oliver complains.

Sara smiles wryly: “Only if I let her.”

  
***

  
They say their goodbyes and see-you-soons, and Sara tries not to get emotional about it. They will be back, she promises herself and them, they just have business to attend to. Delivering corpses unto the Demon, type of business. They travel via cargo plane all the way back to Nanda Parbat, seeing no need for a stop over at the American compound. League assassins are generally able to sleep anywhere, so with bodies in the back, the injured towards the front, and prisoners chained against the wall, the rest of them are all passed out on crates and seats and piles of tarp. 

Nyssa is probably the worst patient ever, but Sara already knew that. Right now, she is asleep on a pallet Sara constructed for her. Rocket is curled in a tight ball at her hip, and Sara smiles softly at the sight of them. She brushes some of Nyssa’s hair from her eyes, grateful for the crates she pulled around them for a little privacy.

The crutch lays on the ground beside them, but Sara knows she will refuse it once they land, since the sutures have been in place long enough that Nyssa (and only Nyssa) will see no need for it. The sling will be gone in a day or two. Stupid, stubborn warrior. Who stood quietly and resolutely at her side, through all of it, who had to be literally carried away from her. Who let her lead this whole endeavor, knowing she needed to. 

“You are thinking too much.” Who is apparently awake. “Do you miss your family?”

“No. I mean, yes. It was too short, and just a phone call to my mom didn’t feel like enough. But that isn’t what I was thinking about.”

“What, then?” 

“How great you are.”

Nyssa smiles. “How is your wound?”

“It’s nothing,” Sara waves away her concern.

“It would have been nothing if you still wore your previous clothing.”

Sara laughs and rolls her eyes, “Stop. It’s not coming back.”

Nyssa grins.

Rocket stirs and adjusts so that her head is now resting on Nyssa’s hip. Sara melts a little.

“How cute is that?”

“Very.”

Nyssa pats the space beside her with her good hand, and Sara slips in, Rocket between them. 

“How are you?” Nyssa asks.

“I told you; it’s fine! It probably won’t even scar.”

“I don’t mean your wound, Sara.”

Sara sighs and shifts, kissing Nyssa’s good shoulder and then resting her head on it. 

“I’m okay. Tired. Not a lot of time for rest, recently.”

“Mmm. Not reconsidering your decisions now that you have seen your sister and your friends?”

“Not at all. I wish I could have both, our life and life with them in Starling, but our life is more important. It’s real. I’m yours, you’re mine, and we’re the League’s.”

“Yes, the League’s future. The League’s legacy.”

“Whatever that means,” Sara chuckles. Nyssa’s left hand is brushing her back softly.

“Whatever that means,” Nyssa echoes. “He does often speak in grandiose riddles.”

“Yeah,” Sara yawns, wrapping an arm around Nyssa’s middle. “I guess that’s his prerogative as the Demon’s Head.”

Nyssa laughs softly. “Likely.”

“When you’re the Demon’s Head, are you gonna talk like that?”

“Perhaps I will, habibti. You’ll have to wait to find out.”

“I’ll be here,” Sara promises. “You just have to stop wandering into booby traps like a novice, so that you will, too.”

“I was distracted,” Nyssa defends.

“Rookie mistake. Could get you killed. No more,” Sara orders. It lacks punch, though, ‘cause Nyssa is warm and comfy and wonderful, and Rocket is tucked into her belly, and tracking down and killing her would-be murderer was exhausting.

“Never again, Taer al-Asfer,” Nyssa promises, nuzzling the top of her head. “You have my solemn word as Heir.”

“Good,” Sara says firmly. “Do you think Rocket’s going to like Nanda Parbat?”

“I do,” Nyssa assures. “But if she does not, she can always live in Starling with Sin or Laurel.”

“Yeah. We’ve gotta get Sin into a nicer place,” Sara says sleepily.

“Perhaps you will have better luck with that than I’ve had.”

Sara half-laughs, feeling more at peace, somehow, on this improvised bed in a plane full of assassins than she has maybe in years. 

“How much further ’til Nanda Parbat?”

“Several hours. You should rest.”

“Okay,” Sara yawns, snuggling in.

She is Sara Lance. She is Taer al-Asfer. She is Beloved of the Heir to the Demon. All of the disparate identities in her have been forged into one, a self chosen and defined in the months of forced introspection of her exile.

She is also incredibly sleepy.

“Sleep well, habibti,” Nyssa whispers in her ear, and she is home.

 

  
FIN


	12. Epilogue, 1/2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! This took much longer than I anticipated, and it is still a work in progress. Therefore the epilogue is being broken up into two parts. I anticipate (time and muse permitting) that there will be follow-up one shots and drabbles (that I'll probably take requests for) set during this Epilogue and after. Thanks for your wonderful patience and support!

“I told you you should have brought more back up.”

“Dig is busy. It’s his night off,” Oliver grits back to Felicity.

“Laurel would have been happy to come.”

“Laurel isn’t trained yet,” Oliver grunts, flipping a Triad over his shoulder and trying to keep an eye on Roy.

“Then train her!”

“Felicity,” Oliver growls, attempting to disable his current attacker. “Not now.”

“Okay, sorry, sorry. Want me to call SCPD?”

“That would be-“

He doesn’t get the chance to respond. Motorcycle engines rev and an arrow flies from the opposite direction as Roy. The arrow hits his attacker high in the leg and he drops. Oliver rolls out of the way of the incoming pack of motorcycles.

“You’re welcome,” the familiar red veiled woman on the back of the first bike calls as they pass by him, her bow the origin of the arrow. The front rider’s distinctive golden hair is hidden by hood and mask, but the scarf at her waist and gold accents at her sleeves give her away.

Sara freaking Lance is leading a bunch of mounted assassins into the abandoned parking lot and making quick work of the Triad, trussing them up, injured but alive, in the center of the asphalt. 

Oliver checks in on Roy as Felicity squeals in his ear: “Is that Sara and Nyssa?!”

Roy is embracing Sara and shaking Nyssa’s hand, even nodding friendlily to a few of the League members Oliver doesn’t recognize, but Roy must.

“I had it covered,” Oliver complains even as he hugs Sara briefly.

“Yeah, of course you did,” Sara grins.

“And you can call before coming, you know? You don’t always have to show up unannounced.”

“She enjoys a dramatic entrance,” Nyssa comments, even extending her hand to him. He takes it, surprised.

“Guilty,” Sara shrugs.

“No offense, but what _are_ you doing here?” Roy asks. “With _so much_ back up.”

It’s only a dozen or so League members, but the previous times when Sara and Nyssa showed up with troops, something big was going on. 

SCPD sirens are getting closer, though, and Oliver suggests they take this conversation back to the Foundry.

Sara, grinning, vibrant, happy Sara, jumps onto her motorcycle and Nyssa joins her, looking as peaceful as Oliver’s ever seen her, too. 

“Race ya?” Sara asks, and it’s hard to say no to that.  
  
***  
  
Laurel shows up not long after Sara and Nyssa crashed Oliver’s fight, saying she got a call from her sister to meet her there. She also doesn’t know why Sara is back, three months after that business with Merlyn.

“She sounded good,” Laurel smiles.

“Yeah,” Felicity agrees. “From what I heard over Oliver and Roy’s earpieces, at least.”

“I wasn’t expecting her back so soon,” Laurel comments. “I thought her terrifying father-in-law would want to keep them close longer.”

Felicity grins.

“How does it feel to be almost related to Ra’s al Ghul via not-quite marriage?”

“Weird. And thank god I’m not the only one who thinks they are practically married.”

“Sara told me they aren’t married, but it feels like a technicality. And there’s something about the way everyone says “Beloved”.”

“Right?!”

The door to the Foundry bursts open, then.

“You cheated,” Sara is complaining, hood and veil down, turning over her shoulder.

“So did you!” Oliver objects, following her down the stairs.

“Yeah, you’re both disqualified,” Roy says behind them.

“I believe that means Sar’ab is the victor,” Nyssa adds, as she enters with a dozen League fighters in tow.

“Why do they both regress to teenagers when they’re together?” Laurel asks Felicity with an eye roll.

“We may never know,” Felicity laughs.

Felicity lets Laurel hug Sara first, since they’re family, but Sara beckons her over and makes it a group hug.

“Okay,” Felicity says, once they’ve pulled apart. Felicity gets a gentle smile and a hand on her shoulder as a greeting from Nyssa. “Now you _have_ to tell us why you’re here. There can’t be another League Civil War already.”

“No,” Sara laughs. “Ra’s sent us here.”

“Ra’s?” Oliver asks, stripping off his gloves and hood. “Why?”

“My father has given much thought to your assertion that you are the only one cleaning up Al Saher’s messes, when the League does carry some blame for allowing him to walk away. As such, the League offers to Starling City a dozen of our best, with Taer al-Asfer and I in command, for six months. We will even, _within reason_ , abide by your rules against killing. We will… clean up this city, and _then_ , Mr. Queen, the League’s debt to Starling will be paid.”

“You’re going to - “ Oliver starts.

“Catch bad guys, root out organized crime, donate a lot of money,” Sara says flippantly.

“Be vigilantes,” Oliver says flatly.

“Yes,” Nyssa agrees. "For lack of a better word."

“For six months,” Sara underscores.

“Cool!” Felicity grins. “The team’s back together! Plus thirteen…”

“We may coordinate efforts or not,” Nyssa tells him. “It’s your choice.”

“Where are you staying?” Laurel asks.

“We bought a building downtown, newly renovated. Rocket’s there now,” Sara says. 

“You brought Rocket?!” Felicity beams.

“Of course! Not gonna leave her all alone in Nanda Parbat.”

“Although I believe my father was hoping we would.”

Sara laughs.

“We’d miss her too much. By the way, heard a rumor this guy isn’t taking you in the field,” she directs to Laurel.

“Nope.”

“Well, tomorrow the Black Canary’s training begins. League-style. We’re pretty brutal, so sleep a lot tonight.”

Laurel beams.

“This is gonna be fun,” Felicity exclaims.

“Yeah,” Oliver says, much less enthused. “Fun.”  
  
***  
  
“Hey stranger.”

“Sara!” Sin cries, throwing herself into Sara’s arms and then dragging her into the apartment. “What are you doing here?!”

“We’re in town for a while.”

“How while?”

“Six months.”

“No way!”

“Yes way, and I actually was hoping we could ask a huge favor.”

“Of course. Anything!”

“Will you move in with us?”

“What?!”

“We’re living in this awesome penthouse downtown, three bedrooms, and we brought  Rocket, of course, and we need a little help with her. Our schedules are pretty unpredictable, and she loves you. Plus-“

“You want me to be your dog nanny?” Sin asks, bemused, arms crossed over her chest.

“No! I want you to live with us, I’m trying to just say it in a way that won’t make your pride reject it as charity,” Sara says, likewise crossing her arms. “An extra set of hands would be awesome, though.”

“Fine,” Sin sighs. “If I _must_ , I will come live in your fancy penthouse and make sure you crazy assassins don’t forget to feed Rocket.”

Sara smiles so wide she thinks her face will split and gives Sin a monstrous hug.

“Wanna move tonight? I know some guys. We already got you a bed and stuff. Your room’s got a walk-in closet!”

“I don’t need a walk-in closet. I don’t have very much stuff.”

“True. It’s like the size of this apartment,” Sara says thoughtfully. “We’ll get you new stuff.”

“Are you Little Orphan Annie-ing me?”

“A little,” Sara says, sheepishly.

“Okay,” Sin shrugs. “I always wanted two moms.”

  
***  
  
“Whoaa. This place is _nice_ ,” Felicity marvels, knowing it’s an understatement. The living area is at least two stories, with three sides framed by floor to ceiling windows and the fourth side bracketed by one of the most gorgeous kitchens she’s ever seen, all marble and stainless steel. The living area is big enough to hold a massive tv and super comfy-looking furniture and a full on training room, complete with mats for sparring, weights for lifting, and the ever drool-worthy salmon ladder. Right now, the mats are occupied by a sweaty and exhausted Laurel and Thea, laying amongst bottles of water and towels and one happy little dog.

“There are still several units available in the building. Thea and Roy are moving into one tomorrow,” Nyssa offers.

“Oh, um, I’ve got a place,” Felicity stumbles. “Thanks, though.”

“Laurel said the same. The offer stands.”

“Okay,” Felicity says.

Sara emerges from one of the doors upstairs and leans over the railing:

“Break time’s over. Rocket, get their lazy butts off the mats!”

Rocket leaps up at her Sara’s voice, jumping around excitedly. 

“You’re the worst,” Laurel complains. “I thought Nyssa would be the mean one.”

“Yeah. Oh look,” Thea groans. “Felicity’s here. You can’t kill us in front of Felicity.”

“Hey you,” Sara grins, coming down the stairs into the space where the kitchen steps down into the plush rug of the living area. She hugs Felicity warmly. She turns to Nyssa. “You wanna get ‘em back for saying they thought you were the mean one?”

Nyssa grins, and honestly, Felicity is a little scared of her in that moment. 

“It would be my pleasure.”

“Felicity and I will be outside. Did Sin say when she’d be back?”

“She and Roy are catching a matinee, but should both be back for dinner.”

“Great,” Sara kisses her cheek, then grabs Felicity’s arm. “Give ‘em hell.”

Sara leads Felicity past the training area, and through a sliding door onto a balcony. 

No, balcony is too small. A porch? An outside area with honest to g-d grass and a ton of awesome porch furniture, overlooking all of Starling.

“Whoa,” Felicity repeats. 

“I know, it’s awesome,” Sara grins.

Felicity loves this Sara. Kickass, on a mission Canary is great; barking orders in Arabic, leading the League Taer al-Asfer is amazing (and scary); but goofy, grinning, happy Sara is one of the best friends Felicity has ever had.

“I see you’ve got your own little vigilante academy going on,” Felicity teases.

“Yes, Oliver makes his grumpy face,” Sara laughs, “But they should be working into the regular patrol schedule in the next few days.”

Oliver, Dig, and Roy are still adjusting to having another, bigger, squad of vigilantes in town, but Felicity is doing her best to coordinate between them, and they’ve already gotten better after the first few days. Nyssa and Oliver are even developing a (mostly) healthy competition about who can bring in the most perps in one night. Sara shamelessly cheats in Nyssa’s favor (not that she really needs it). 

“It’s really nice to have you here,” Felicity says warmly as Sara gestures for them to sit on two lounge chairs.

“Yeah, not a bad way to spend a summer,” Sara agrees. 

“Where are the rest of the, uh, assassins? That is so weird.”

Sara laughs.

“They live in the apartments on the floors below us, so they’re close by if necessary.”

“Like the one pretending to be a bodyguard at your apartment door?”

“Yep.”

“That’s so weird,” Felicity repeats. “To see them in just… suits. Real people suits. I mean, I know they _are_ real, but you and Nyssa-“

“I get it,” Sara chuckles. “Having them in League uniform would kinda blow our ‘bored heiress’ cover story and make our nighttime activities less anonymous. So suits it is. How’s work? The day job.”

Ray Palmer had signed Queen Consolidated over to Felicity when he’d left town in his Atom suit, but Felicity preferred to hire a CEO to run it, rather than deal with the day to day headaches. Not that ownership didn’t have its _own_ headaches. 

“Annoying but fine. Managing Roy and Oliver gives me a lot of practice in shutting down bickering, and I hired John as my bodyguard so he has an official day job again too.”

“I’m sure Baby Sara is happy for the stability,” Sara teases.

“Have you met her yet?” Felicity asks.

“Nope. All three Diggles are coming over for dinner tomorrow, though.”

“What?! That’s so cute!”

“Speaking of, you’re staying for dinner, right?”

“Definitely.”

“Great,” Sara tucks her knees into her chest and smiles conspiratorially. “So now you need to fill me in on what the heck happened with you and Super Suit and why you and Oliver aren’t dating yet.”  
  
***  
  
“Tell me again what we’re doing?” Lyla asks as she throws a few more diapers into the diaper bag, just in case. You never know. 

“Going to a friend’s house for dinner.”

“That friend being the woman we named our daughter for, who was dead until a few months ago.”

“Yes.”

“And the daughter of Ra’s al Ghul.”

“Yeah, they’re a thing. A couple.”

“Yes, I figured they weren’t just good buddies, John,” Lyla rolls her eyes.

“Oh, and Nyssa’s Heir, not just daughter.”

“Oh, excellent. So I could be fired for this.”

John grins. “They have a dog.”

“A dog?!”

“Rocket.”

“Like the baseball team?”

“Sara- uh, Adult Sara, is a big fan.”

“That’s going to be confusing.”

“Yeah. We don’t have to go if you don’t want to…”

“No! No, I do. I’m sorry. I’m just having trouble wrapping my mind around all of this.”

“As long as we don’t bring up the fact that ARGUS would happily arrest each of them on sight, I think we’ll be fine. Sara really wants to meet Sara.”

“Still not used to it.”

“Me either,” John chuckles. “And Nyssa’s… A little intense, but she’s been a lot calmer since they got back. And they’re actually doing a lot of good. They’ve got a lot more manpower and experience than just Oliver and I knocking heads together.”  
  
***  
  
“This has been a lot of fun,” Dig says.

Sara decides not to be offended at the surprise in his voice. It _has_ been fun, and she’s much too happy with a lap full of baby and dog to be grumpy about anything. Besides, the way that Lyla and Nyssa have completely hit it off _is_ a little surprising.

The two women in question are still perched on the stools at the kitchen island, sharing a bottle of red wine and discussing everything from battle strategy to political theory. It was clear about halfway through dinner that Sara and Dig just couldn’t keep up. Also hitting it off are Baby Sara and Rocket, each equally fascinated with each other. They played all through dessert on the soft carpet of the living room, Baby Sara giggling and Rocket’s tail wagging the whole time. Eventually they both got exhausted and joined Dig and Sara on the couch, where Baby Sara immediately crashed in Sara’s lap and fell asleep with her head on her chest and Rocket curled up around her.

“Definitely,” Sara remembers to agree with him. “You guys are welcome here, whenever. Especially my awesome namesake. If you ever need a little help with her…”

“Volunteering for babysitting duty, huh?”

“Of course. Saras need to stick together.”

“Of course,” Dig chuckles. He glances back towards Nyssa and Lyla. “We fell for some pretty smart women, huh?”

“Crazy smart,” Sara agrees. “Guess that makes us the eye candy.”

Dig laughs loud enough to make Rocket and Baby Sara stir, but they each settle back down.

“Yeah,” Dig is still laughing. “I guess it does.”

  
***  
  
“We stopped in Central City on the way here,” Sara says casually, enjoying the feeling of the Starling City breeze in her hair as she and Laurel keep watch from the rooftop. “Had dinner with Mom and the boyfriend.”

“‘We’ as in you and Nyssa?” Laurel asks, gaping a little.

“Yep.”

“Oh my god. How did that go?

“Awkwardly?” Sara grins. “But not that bad. I think Mom stopped hating Nyssa by dessert.”

“She’s pretty charming when not armed,” Laurel allows.

“Yes,” Sara chuckles. “She really wanted to make amends. It’s probably going to take awhile, but Mom seemed open to it.”

“Well, since anyone who has ever been around you two _gets it_ , Mom probably figures she’s just going to have to get used to Nyssa.”

Sara rolls her eyes.

“You two gonna make that official any time soon?”

“It’s already official,” Sara lets slip without thinking.

“We’ve got two targets coming your way, Canaries,” Dig interrupts in their ears.

“What?!” Laurel demands.

“You heard the man. Gotta go!” Sara jumps over the edge.

“Sara Lance, did you get married without me?!” Laurel leans over and yells after her.  
  
***  
  
“We’re not really _married_ , exactly,” Sara says later, handing her sister an ice pack for her knee before collapsing onto her fluffy white arm chair. Thea and Nyssa (a pretty terrifying duo these days) are out batting clean up while Oliver and Roy deliver most of the drug gang’s upper echelons to the SCPD. 

“What _exactly_ does that mean?” Laurel asks, laying back on the couch, looking exhausted. At least Sin took Rocket outside to run a little, so neither Lance sister has to deal with a face full of dog tongue.

“Marriage isn’t a big thing in the League. Sometimes, in the old days, it was done for alliances or whatever, but not really anymore. But in the eyes of the League, Nyssa and I are already bound together.”

“It’s that Beloved thing, isn’t it?” Laurel says.

Sara nods, then laughs when Laurel weakly pumps a fist in victory.

“I knew it. How long? Why wasn’t I invited?”

“There’s nothing to be invited to. Each League member can claim one. It just happened. A year or so after I got to Nanda Parbat.”

“Mhmm.” Laurel purses her lips. “I still feed robbed of the opportunity to be maid of honor.”

“Who says _you_ would have been my maid of honor,” Sara sticks out her tongue. 

Laurel somehow musters the energy to chuck a throw pillow at her. Sara doesn’t bother to duck. 

“You ever going to make it non-League official?” Laurel asks.

“Nah,” Sara shrugs. “No point.”

It’s true; Sara isn’t really interested in paper or parties that say she and Nyssa are committed to each other.

“Fine,” Laurel says. “But you owe me an ugly dress.”

“Oh, okay. I’ll get right on that.”

  
***  
  
“I’m sorry, Oliver. You’ll need to be searched before you can go in,” Sar’ab says firmly.

“Searched? Whose order is that? Nyssa’s or Sara’s?”

“What the Heir orders, Taer al-Asfer orders. There is no difference,” Sar’ab answers. 

Oliver sighs at Maseo’s cryptic League-speak and spreads his arms to be patted down.

“Sara’s pretty high-ranking in the League now, isn’t she?” Oliver asks conversationally.

“Taer al-Asfer is the Beloved of the Heir; their souls are bound together, and the Demon’s Head has trusted them to ensure his legacy.”

“His legacy? Like… his bloodline?”

Maseo’s impassive mask slips briefly, confusion crossing his face.

“You do know they are both women?” he asks.

“Never mind,” Oliver groans. He really shouldn’t try to wrap his mind around the League. “Am I good?”

“You may enter.”

“Thanks, Mas- Sar’ab.”

Maseo nods and opens the door for him.

He has to admit that the penthouse is pretty impressive. Definitely way nicer than the Foundry basement he’s sleeping in. Maybe he should take Felicity up on her offer to get the mansion back. He had been living with Thea, but when Sara and Nyssa had offered her and Roy their own place in this building a couple weeks ago he hadn’t felt comfortable staying on as his baby sister’s charity case. As Malcolm Merlyn’s sole heir, Thea was back to a comfort level they enjoyed in their childhood, but vigilantism doesn’t pay well and it’s not quite financially or politically feasible for Felicity to hire him back at QC yet. 

“Hey man,” Diggle greets him, Baby Sara on his hip. “This your first time here?”

“Yeah. I wasn’t sure why we all had to meet here, but I think I know now.”

“Little less cave-like,” Diggle agrees. 

“Should you have Baby Sara here? Isn’t it kinda dangerous?” Oliver asks, looking around. 

Dig laughs. 

"We're invited guests of the Heir to the Demon. There are a dozen assassins trained to die for her between here and the front door. It is literally the safest place possible. Don’t worry; they aren't trying to recruit her.” Dig smiles. “Plus Baby Sara really likes the dog.”

“Right, of course, the dog,” Oliver says, looking around warily.

“Scared of a ten pound ball of fluff, Oliver?”

“No. Just… She doesn’t like me.”

Dig smirks at him. 

“Hey, Rocket!” he calls. 

“Ah, come on, Dig.”

The tiny dog comes bounding over, sniffs Oliver, and growls a little. Baby Sara laughs.

“Stop,” Dig admonishes Rocket, “Even though it’s funny.”

They move into the living room to join everyone else. 

“Rocket, leave Oliver alone,” Sara calls from one of the couches, lounging between Sin and Nyssa. Thea and Roy take up a love seat, and Laurel and Felicity are on the sectional, waving them over.

Rocket runs back over to Sara at the sound of her voice. 

“Alright, now the gang’s all here,” Sara grins around the room. “Let’s talk Chien Na Wei.”

Oliver thinks about Maseo right outside the door, fights down the pain of Akio. That part wasn't Chien Na Wei's fault.

“As long as the Triads continue to have free run of the Glades, they continue to profit, and the SCPD continues to be unable to stabilize the neighborhood. So how can we get her out?” Oliver asks, summarizing the point of this meeting.

“Nyssa and I could talk to her,” Sara offers, a somewhat malicious grin in place. 

“And tell her what?” Roy asks.

“I don’t think they actually mean talking,” Thea corrects. 

Oliver agrees with her assessment; Nyssa’s sinister smile is back, and growing.

“Intimidating China White isn’t going to work,” he says.

“I dunno. We can be pretty intimidating,” Sara replies, and even said half-seriously, almost lazily, from a plush couch in a fancy, bright apartment, Oliver believes her and almost takes them up on the offer. If anyone deserves a few hours at their mercy, Chien Na Wei is on the short list.

But no.

“We need something more long term than roughing up China White, or even assassinating her,” Oliver says. “We need to make the Triads diminish their presence here.”

“So make it less hospitable,” Dig suggests. “Guerilla style. Harry their supply lines, bust up their deals, make it _annoying_ to stay.”

“And how do we know that won’t just start a war?” Roy asks. “The Triad’s well-armed.”

“Chien Na Wei is no fool. She will not court war with the League,” Nyssa says firmly. 

Well, that’s… true. A few looks at who’s doing the disrupting would make the Triad think twice about retaliation, and about staying in Starling.

“Okay,” Oliver agrees. “It’s a start. Now we need a plan.”  
  
***  
  
The smell of _something_ wonderful from the kitchen tempts Sara off of the salmon ladder and towards the stove.

“What are you making?” she asks, sidling up behind Nyssa and snaking her arms around her waist. She tries to sneak a look at the pan but receives an elbow to the shoulder for her trouble.

“You’ll find out soon enough,” Nyssa tuts.

“Ow,” Sara complains over-dramatically. “I’d retaliate, but you’re near an open flame.” She lets her head fall between Nyssa’s shoulder blades and inhales deeply. Everything smells wonderful.

“I am so glad to be spared your wrath, Taer al-Asfer.”

Sara smiles against the soft cotton of Nyssa’s shirt and presses a kiss to her spine.

“You should be.” She pushes away, hands finding the granite counter of the island and raising herself to perch on the edge. “Dad called earlier. He said Wright made bail this afternoon. I thought maybe we could go pay him a little visit tonight, make sure he avoids a return to his old ways.”

“Give him a taste of his own medicine, perhaps?” Nyssa asks, turning with a dangerous smile on her face.

“Shake down the shake down artist,” Sara grins, already anticipating the fight. “Maybe leave the sidekicks at home? It could be just the two of us.”

The fight isn’t the only thing she is anticipating. 

Nyssa’s hands slide slowly up the outside of her thighs, tucking under her hips and tugging her towards the edge of the counter.

“Shouldn’t you, be cooking?” Sara gasps as Nyssa’s lips find her neck.

“It’ll keep,” Nyssa murmurs into her neck.

Sara groans, fingers digging into Nyssa’s back. Nyssa has Sara’s tank top over her head in an instant, and Sara’s heels find the back of Nyssa’s thighs, urging her even closer. Nyssa’s lips travel down to - 

The key in the door is their only warning.

“Hey, moms, we’re home! Rocket successfully - Jesus Christ!”

Sara suddenly feels grateful that all the kitchen knives are out of reach. As much as they both feel affection for Sin, there is a decent chance Nyssa would chuck one at the girl for the interruption. The pout on Nyssa’s face as she pulls away makes Sara laugh.

“Sorry, Sin,” Sara calls over her shoulder as Sin enters, hand over her eyes. Rocket runs ahead of her, dragging her leash, which Sin must have dropped in her shock.

“You have a room!” Sin complains. “And that’s the kitchen! We eat in there!”

Sara is still chuckling as she yanks her shirt back on. Nyssa steps back and allows Sara to hop down. Sara kisses her grumpy pout and slaps her ass.

“Finish dinner and we’ll finish _that_ later.”

Nyssa mutters something under her breath in Arabic about being Heir to the Demon and being bossed around and a little bit about beheading meddlesome teenagers. 

Sara smirks and leans down to scoop up Rocket, undoing her harness and giving her a full body scratch. 

“Were you good for your Sin, hmm?”

“She was good,” Sin says, face still covered.

“You can look,” Sara laughs. “It’s safe.”

“It’s never safe,” Sin grumbles, even as she lowers her hand.

“You need a drink?”

“She is not yet old enough to drink,” Nyssa calls from the kitchen.

Sara rolls her eyes.

“She can handle a beer.”

“You’re so the fun mom,” Sin teases. “Maybe with dinner.”

Sara throws an arm around Sin’s shoulder (the arm not holding Rocket) and directs her towards the kitchen.

“C’mon, tell me about your walk while Nyssa makes us yummy, yummy food.”

“What’s for dinner?”

“That’s a dangerous question.”

 

***

 

tbc


	13. Epilogue, 2/2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief mentions of sexual assault and rape, just in passing. Certainly no more than the show and the Canary's storyline in general. 
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me! A week later than I thought, but here ya go! This has been an awesome ride, and thank you so much for all your amazing comments.

  
Rocket is very small. _Incredibly_ small. As such, she feels delicate to the touch, fragile and oh-so-breakable. Nyssa knows this isn’t quite as true as it seems, having seen little Sarookh catapult herself off of every surface imaginable. But still, this fragility, real or imagined, has brought out a tenderness in Nyssa, of touch and of the heart.

It’s not the first time, of course. The first time Nyssa truly found herself capable of this tenderness was when she nursed her Taer al-Asfer back to health, and she has touched and loved Sara both gently and fiercely ever since.

But as Nyssa scoops little Sarookh into her arms, holding her close against her chest, she is still surprised by the genuine love she feels for Sara’s (their) canine companion.

Sarookh is tired. They have had her out and about all day: a morning visit to Felicity at Queen Consolidated, lunch with Captain Lance, and then a few hours at the three-meal-a-day soup kitchen they set up in the Glades last week. (Cleaning up a city takes more than rounding up criminals: when a population is less desperate, it is less violent, which is why the hospital recently became the beneficiary of a very generous, anonymous trust and the soup kitchen will soon expand to both a shelter and a jobs program, which is what this morning’s meeting with QC’s new owner was about.) 

So the exhausted pup easily relaxes into Nyssa’s arms, resting her snout in the crook of Nyssa’s elbow, contentedly closing her eyes. 

Nyssa keeps her there, little heartbeat fast against her breast, and heads upstairs to where Sara is showering. Sarookh grunts at the movement as Nyssa climbs the stairs, and Nyssa shushes her soothingly.

Sara is towel-drying her hair when they enter the bedroom, a t-shirt pulled on casually, and she smiles when she sees them.

“Someone’s sleepy, huh?”

“She had a long day,” Nyssa says, sitting down on the edge of the bed.

“Me too,” Sara grins. “I thought I might stay in tonight. Watch a movie with Sin and Rocket, let Laurel go out without training wheels with Sar’ab and the others.”

“You could use a break,” Nyssa approves.

“You could too. Wanna join us?”

“I promised Thea we would go out. She wants more practice handling the bow in hand to hand combat.”

“You know,” Sara says, stepping forward, all long legs and fresh faced and _home_. “The last time you were this involved with training someone, there was a lot more than just training going on…”

Nyssa rolls her eyes, hands occupied with Rocket but itching to touch Sara.

“If you are implying that you should be jealous, habibti-“

“ _Should_ I?” Sara asks, but her eyes are dancing with mirth, and Nyssa knows no actual accusations are being made.

“Thea Queen is barely more than a child.”

“She’s the same age I was when you met me!” Sara objects as she draws closer, a grin threatening to give away the game Nyssa knows she is playing.

“And I was likewise much younger. Regardless, you have no reason to be jealous and you know it.”

“I know it,” Sara concedes, as she takes Nyssa’s face in her hands and tips her head back for a kiss, long and slow, radiating warmth.

It speaks to Rocket’s exhaustion that she waits several minutes before interceding in all this attention and affection being directed at someone besides her. She huffs and moves out of Nyssa’s hold, pawson Sara’s chest.

Sara laughs and pulls away just a little. Their knees still brush against each other, but she moves her hands to Rocket’s face.

“I am still going out with Thea tonight.”

“Fine,” Sara grins, looking from Rocket back to Nyssa. “You and Thea can go play with your bows and arrows. We’re gonna have a lot of ice cream while you’re gone, though.”

“I have no doubt.”  
  
***  
  
As soon as the man drops, completely limp, to the asphalt, Sara knows Oliver is going to be trouble about this.

She hadn’t intended to end this scumbag’s life, exactly, but she also hadn’t, exactly, been gentle with him, nor trying very hard to keep him alive. She’d swung her bo with the screams of his latest victim in her ears and the reports of his previous victims in her mind. Had that made her swing harder? Maybe. Had it made her pay no mind to the concrete block in the way of his head as she threw him to the ground? Definitely.

Hooded, Oliver joins them in the alley, asking in his altered voice, “Ready to take your guy down to the precinct?”

Sara glances back towards Nyssa and Sar’ab briefly. Oliver catches the look and drops to a knee beside their mark, checking his pulse. 

He rises, face darkening.

“You killed him!”

“He tripped!” Sara defends, just a little facetious.

“We had a deal,” Oliver growls, stepping in.

Nyssa steps in, too, almost between them, hand on her knife, but Sara lays a calming hand on her forearm. 

“We said no killing, within reason. This guy was a serial rapist. If I was a little less restrained than usual, I think that’s _reasonable_.”

“I don’t do things this way, Sara.”

“No, I haven’t seen you bothering to do much about the rampant sexual violence in the Glades.”

“Sara.”

“Oliver.”

There is a tense moment, and then Sar’ab speaks.

“If you would like to terminate this agreement, Oliver, that can be arranged.”

Sara knows what he’s doing, diffusing this before it goes further, and she appreciates it. Nyssa has been looking for a reason to kick Oliver’s ass, and now isn’t the time.

“No,” Oliver finally says. “Let’s, uh, let’s talk about this problem. And the nonlethal ways of dealing with it.”

“Okay,” Sara says. “I’ll call my dad about this and get it cleaned up. Felicity and Laurel have some ideas about a QC funded rape crisis center, so you should probably talk to them about it. We just go after the assholes Laurel tells us to.”

Oliver glances down to the corpse again.

“Serial?”

“Six we know of. We interrupted number seven.”

She sees something click behind his mask.

“He tripped?”

“Clumsy little shit,” Sara nods.

“Alright.”

Their comms ping.

“Everything okay where you guys are?” Felicity asks. “Arsenal, Speedy, and Black Canary just finished up on Elm.”

“All good,” Sara assures. “I’m gonna handle clean up here. The Arrow’s gonna come back. He wants to talk about that project we were talking about yesterday.”

“Oh! Great! I’ll get the charts.

“Great,” Sara smiles. “Have fun.”

Oliver takes his leave, and Sara turns back to Nyssa and Sar’ab.

“He is more trouble than he is worth,” Nyssa comments in Arabic.

“He did not have such squeamish morals when I knew him,” Sar’ab replies in kind.

“It’s new,” Sara says. “And it’s noble and well-intentioned, if completely moronic. How are our other two patrols tonight?”

“Gamma’s has been uneventful. Beta delivered a few Bratva enforcers to SCPD’s central precinct ten minutes ago,” Sar’ab reports. 

“Okay. Go join Gamma.”

“As you command, Taer al-Asfer,” Sar’ab gives a minute bow.

Then it’s Sara, Nyssa, and a dead rapist in the alley.

“Are you alright, habibti?”

“Yeah,” Sara assures her. “Let’s call Dad and then go check on Mariana. I want to make sure she got home alright after a run in with this guy and three vigilantes dropping in.”  
  
***  
  
Her gasp gives her away, as it usually does. Nyssa is already awake, though, looking at her with concern in her liquid dark eyes, arms already reaching around her shoulders.

“You are safe, habibti,” Nyssa says softly. “I have you.”

Sara’s breathing evens out, and the vestiges of the cries of mourning children are chased away.

“He deserved his fate.”

“I know.”

“There is no one to mourn his passing.”

Sara closes her eyes, breathes out: “I know. It was the right thing to do.”

“Yes,” Nyssa says quietly.

“It just… You know, memories.”

“I know,” Nyssa nods, kissing her temple.

“I’ll be fine,” Sara promises. And she will. With Nyssa warm against her, grounding her, the recurring nightmares easily retreat, and she settles down, head on Nyssa’s shoulder, breathing her in. “Go back to sleep.”

“If you insist.”

Nyssa has one arm around her still, but she relaxes against the pillows.

“Thank you,” Sara says softly.

“Always.”  
  
***  
  
Quentin checks his watch. It’s unlike his daughter and her… Nyssa to be late, even for a casual lunch like this. It’s either Nyssa’s influence or League training that’s responsible; his Sara used to be chronically late.

He’s at a café (with outdoor seating so they can bring Rocket) not far from their absurdly expensive home, and he's about two seconds from calling Sara when Nyssa arrives, large bag slung over one shoulder and Rocket’s leash held in the other hand. He stands as the excitable pup does a full body wriggle upon seeing him. 

“I apologize for our tardiness, Captain,” Nyssa greets. “We were called upon as last minute babysitters.”

As she explains, Sara rounds the corner with an infant on her hip, precariously balancing her own Rockets hat on the baby’s head as they both laugh.

“Hey, Dad,” Sara says as she gives him a one-armed hug. “Hope it’s okay we brought Baby Sara. John and Lyla’s nanny called in sick, and rather than either of them rearranging stuff, they asked us.”

“Ah, so this is the infamous Sara Diggle,” Quentin grins. “Not a problem. I’m glad to finally meet her.” He watches with interest as Sara easily hands the baby off to Nyssa and the Heir to the Demon bounces a ten-month-old on her lap. 

They make small talk about Rocket’s shenanigans, the Rockets’ playoff chances, and what a bang up job they’re doing in the Glades. Lance has to admit this summer was amazing, even though he knows this idyll will be over soon after Halloween. He has taken to glaring at every leaf that turns as another reminder that his time with unfettered access to Sara is finite.

Baby Sara transfers with ease from lap to lap between his daughter and Nyssa, and Rocket hovers under her, should any Cheerios fall her way. It all feels so very _normal_ , and he allows himself to wonder, briefly, if they are going to give him grandchildren some day. He doesn’t voice the question, though; he doesn’t want to be _that_ parent, and there are some obvious complications, such as who his grandkids’ other grandfather would be.

“So,” he says instead. “I heard your sister is gonna leave the DA’s office.”

“Well, it’s kinda an obvious conflict of interest,” Sara grins, as Baby Sara rests on her shoulder. “Vigilante and prosecutor.”

“Laurel is going to take over management of our social service endeavors in the Glades,” Nyssa informs him.

“Well, that makes sense. Saving people day and night. Sounds like your sister. Though I’m kinda hoping the night part is just a phase.”

Sara looks skeptical.

“You should see her in action these days. We really whipped her into shape. She kicks major ass.”

“Not in front of the infant,” Nyssa complains.

“Fine,” Sara sighs. “Butt. She kicks butt. Baby Sara can't repeat anything I say yet.”

“Yet,” Nyssa underscores.

Sara rolls her eyes.

“So, Dad. Any hot dates recently?”

Quentin groans.

  
***  
  
The dozen League assassins who traveled with them to Starling City still wear red and gold braids at their shoulders. Ra’s is very into that symbolism these days.

She doesn’t wear League standard anymore, either. A uniform not unlike Nyssa’s with gold accents instead of red was crafted for Taer al-Asfer. Sara’s still not quite sure what to do with Ra’s’s transformation from cool, distant tolerance to full, open embracing of her and her relationship with Nyssa.

But she does know why.

For as calculating and cruel as the Demon’s Head can be, he does love his daughter, greatly. As they discussed in a tiny house in Coast City, the only way to keep Nyssa loyal to him, and therefore alive, was to secure Sara’s loyalty. And the only way to keep Nyssa alive and with her was to give that loyalty to him. They share an interest in keeping Nyssa alive. 

Ra’s liked Sara Lance for her ability to do what is necessary, a part of her only the League has understood and fostered. She has no regrets about reclaiming her identity as Taer al-Asfer.

But sometimes, when League members with gold silk on their shoulders look to her with loyalty and reverence, follow the commands she so easily delivers, no questions asked… Well, that part can be unsettling.

They see Taer al-Asfer, Beloved of the Heir, raised from the dead in the Pits. Iradat al Ghul, the Will of the Demon. And that is a role she is still learning to play with the same ease as she plays Sara Lance and the Canary. They are all roles now, pieces of her true self played up for the audience in question. She’s only her true self completely when she’s alone with Nyssa (and Rocket, of course).

“Taer al-Asfer. The medical convoy has entered the city, and both the Triad and Bratva have been sniffing about as we expected. Neither has taken the bait yet,”  Al-Riyaah reports in Arabic. The older woman had joined a few years ahead of Sara, and they’d been assigned together a handful of times. It makes the new deference, however slight, hard to get used to. 

“They probably smell the trap,” Sara answers in kind. “Chien Na Wei left town and took most of her operations with her. What’s left over won’t move, yet. The Bratva, though…”

The apartment building they’ve picked gives them a good vantage point.

“If they do make the move,” Al-Riyaah starts, glancing through field binoculars again, “The Heir will give them a painful surprise.”

Sara chuckles, thinking of Nyssa and the six of their assassins waiting in the convoy Roy and Dig are driving.

“That’s very true.”

Starling City is practically child’s play compared to the geopolitical machinations they are usually involved in, and Sara knows Oliver is getting annoyed at the glee the League members tend to take in the more violent parts of vigilantism. Sara thinks that’s pretty hypocritical, and that he’s lying to himself if he says he doesn’t feel the need to just hit someone sometimes. Plus, glee or no, so far they’ve done pretty well on the not killing thing.

“The Triad is pulling out, the Bravta is making a move,” Al-Riyaah reports.

Sara pulls up her veil.

“Let’s not let them have all the fun.”  
  
***  
  
“That doesn’t look safe,” Laurel muses as her sister hangs upside down from the bar of the salmon ladder. As much as Laurel has taken to many aspects of Nyssa and Sara’s training, all of them have been ground-based. So far, _this_ Canary is not so keen on flying. The younger Canary, however, isn’t so good at keeping her feet firmly planted.

“It _would_ be undignified to break your neck in such a manner,” Nyssa tuts in that tender way she always addresses Sara.

“I’m _fine_ ,” Sara shrugs them off, letting her fingers fall so that Rocket can chase them. 

“Hey, Nyssa?” Sin calls from the kitchen where she and Thea are wrangling with take-out menus. “Can we get cheesy bread with the pizzas?”

Nyssa pauses, but Sara levels her with a look that speaks volumes, even when delivered from upside down. 

“Yes, of course,” Nyssa calls back as Sara flips herself up, briefly catching the bar in her hands before she drops back to her feet. 

At first, Laurel found it a little strange how both Sin and Thea have started to treat Nyssa like a hybrid big sister/mother figure, but then she realized that both girls (young women) are sorely in need of maternal attention.

“Awesome! Thanks!” Sin replies.

“Don’t be a spoil sport. It’s girls’ night,” Sara chides when Nyssa is still making a face.

“I simply fail to understand why cheesy bread is necessary when pizza is already made up of mostly cheese and bread.”

Sara laughs and kisses her cheek. “It’s an American thing.”

“You frequently use that excuse.”

“C’mon. It’s girls’ night.”

“And that one.”

Laurel was hesitant to attend this “girls’ night”, even though she spends much of her time here anyway. She didn’t know what her place would be amidst tequila shots and chick flicks. She should have known the second was incorrect, and the presence of the youngest guest tonight told her it was going to be tame enough. Any party with a baby probably isn’t going to involve a ton of hard liquor and wild antics.

Sara Diggle sits with Lyla and Felicity in the living room, playing with her godmother’s glasses. Rocket, ever fascinated by this human puppy, goes bounding over. 

Sara (adult Sara) and Nyssa are being disgustingly cute again (not in a PDA way, just in a simultaneously bicker and finish each other’s sentences way, a making her have ridiculous relationship goals way) so

Laurel moves over to the living room of this massive penthouse.

“And then we’ll get you started in html as soon as you can type. Super basic, but you have to get started somewhere.”

“Hacker preschool?” Laurel asks with a grin. 

“You know it.”

“Felicity is going to have her on an ARGUS watch list by kindergarten,” Lyla notes.

“Only if I’m sloppy,” Felicity says in a sing song-y voice as she moves Baby Sara close enough to almost get her glasses before moving her back. 

Nyssa and Sara join them, and Baby Sara squeals with delight, reaching for Laurel’s sister. 

“And there goes my baby time,” Felicity complains, mostly teasing.

“Aw, I’m sorry. It’s just a Sara thing,” Sara grins, taking the baby into her arms and blowing a raspberry on her cheek. Baby Sara giggles.

“She’s too humble. In my experience, children are always drawn to Sara,” Nyssa says.

“Because she still is one at heart,” Laurel teases. 

As if just to prove Laurel’s point, Sara sticks her tongue out at her big sister.

As soon as Sara sits down, Rocket is on them, sniffing and licking both. The Saras laugh.

“Pizza’s on the way,” Thea announces as she and Sin flop onto the second couch, across the way. 

“A lot of pizza,” Sin seconds. “Obscene amount of pizza.”

“Good, that’s why I had you order,” Sara grins. “Sin, do you have the list?”

“The list?” Laurel asks as Sin digs a piece of paper out of her pocket.

“Movies Nyssa still hasn’t seen, despite my best efforts,” Sara says. Nyssa sighs and rolls her eyes at the antics of her… well, Laurel just uses Beloved, because “girlfriend” just doesn’t feel right. “I’ve removed most of the action movies, because believe me, you don’t want to watch an action movie with Nyssa.”

“The fight choreography is appalling!”

“We know,” Sara soothes, rubbing Nyssa’s shoulder with the hand not holding Baby Sara. “We know. Pass the list around, Sin. Let’s make a decision.”

They settle on a few comedies for the evening. They break only when the pizzas arrive, because no one can follow a movie _and_ keep sneaky little Rocket away from their pizza at the same time. Except maybe Nyssa. She and Rocket have a staring contest when the dog approaches her, and Rocket blinks first, hastily moving on to Thea.

After swallowing a bite of the insisted upon cheesy bread, Laurel asks:

“So, Sin, do you like living here?”

“Yeah, it’s great. Except for the fact that these two can’t keep their hands off each other and have had sex on like every surface of the place - Don’t worry, I keep a lot of Lysol handy.”

Her reassurances don’t stop Laurel from shuddering, but she is soon distracted by Sara sending a retaliatory napkin ball sailing towards Sin’s head. It bounces harmlessly off Sin’s temple, and Rocket rushes to investigate.

Good, Laurel thinks. Sara deserves to know what it’s like to live with an annoying little sister.  
  
***  
  
Nyssa worries. It’s hard not to.

Sara is happy, so _happy_ , here that she can’t imagine she will ever be this happy again, once this temporary idyll ends. The six months is a hard deadline and fast approaching, and as with many things with her father, this vacation in vigilantism is as much a test as it is a kindness. How willingly will Sara (and Nyssa herself) return to their place at his side in Nanda Parbat?

Sara does not worry, unless it is over any near misses Nyssa (or Laurel or Thea) have when patrolling the streets of Starling City. Instead, Sara smiles and laughs that enchanting laugh that Nyssa fell so hard for. She talks about the present with joy and the future with anticipation, but Nyssa still worries.

“Uh oh, someone’s making a face.”

Sara is striding though the doorway to their bedroom, dressed in a black v-neck t-shirt and colorful boy cut underwear. Sara sees little need for pants in the comfort of their own home, much to Nyssa’s eternal delight and Sin’s eternal, blushing embarrassment. 

“I’m not making a face,” Nyssa complains as Sara joins her on their bed, playfully straddling her with a look of reproach.

“You are,” Sara says, poking Nyssa in the sternum. She leans forward, the sunlight catching in the golden hair surrounding her face and glinting off the canary pendant that hangs from her neck. Nyssa’s hands find her hips. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing," Nyssa insists.

“No lies,” Sara scolds in Arabic.

“I’m not lying,” Nyssa replies in kind. “If there was a face, it was merely a contemplative one.”

“Fine,” Sara acquiesces, switching back to English. “What are you thinking about?”

“You,” Nyssa answers easily, hands tracing up and down the outsides of Sara’s thighs lightly, occasionally toying with the soft fabric at Sara’s hips.

Sara narrows her eyes.

“Stop worrying. I’m happy now, and I’ll be happy back in Nanda Parbat. _You_ make me happy, Nyssa. _You_ are home.”

Nyssa leans up and kisses her then, because she is warmth and love incarnate. She’s said these things before, but after the tumultuous two years behind them, Nyssa finds it hard to believe things can be this peaceful at the moment.

“Hey, Sar’, are you - Oh god, not again - “

Sara pulls away laughing, just breathtakingly beautiful in her joy, illuminated in the mid-morning sun.

Sin is in the open doorway, hand thrown over her eyes.

“Okay, this one’s kinda my fault, I know, but close the door! Come on!”

Sara twists to the door and grins: “We’re just kissing, Sin.”

“Well, it’s hard to tell since you never wear pants,” Sin complains. “I’ll meet you downstairs.”

“Sounds good,” Sara laughs again.

As Sin turns away, the tell tale clink of fast-moving dog tags reaches Nyssa’s ears, and Rocket comes bounding in.

“You’re a braver woman than I, Rocket,” Sin grumbles.  
  
***  
  
They’re packed and ready to go. In fact, only Sar’ab remains with the Heir and her Beloved, the rest trickling back to Nanda Parbat over the last few days. Sara, jacket pulled tight against the cool fall air, gives Rocket one last Starling City walk.

The city where she almost died over a year ago spreads out around her. It’s nice to get a little alone time with Rocket, like when it was just the two of them in Coast City. Unlike then, though, a whole host of friends and family await them at “home”, to say their goodbye-for-nows. 

Sara expected to be a little sadder than she is. Nyssa certainly keeps looking at her like she is going to breakdown at any moment. But as much as she’ll miss the people she loves in this city, she’s ready to move on. This was always temporary, and she’s embraced it as such. She’s just not Sara Lance anymore, and her friends and family understand that to varying degrees.

There is more out there for them, for her and Nyssa, than playing vigilante in Starling City. Their time here has stabilized the Glades, but those with the real calling, Laurel and Ollie, Thea and Roy, Felicity and Dig, can take it from here. Life has made her a bit of a wandering soul, and she is getting restless. Six months in one apartment is a long time for her.

They are keeping the apartment (which she thinks makes her dad feel better) and have even talked Sin into staying “to take care of the place”. Laurel has hired Sin at the shelter, and Sara feels good knowing her sisters will be looking out for each other.

Oliver honestly seems a little relieved to be getting “his city” back, but he’s come a long way. He’s volunteering at the shelter, learning to consult with at least Felicity and Dig, and going on missions with Laurel without being a condescending prick. That last one is probably because one slow night they sparred in the Foundry and Laurel wiped the floor with him, but every little bit of growth helps.

Rocket finds a nice tree to mark as her own, after sniffing all the other messages left by the dogs of the neighborhood. Maybe Sara’s only regret is separating Rocket and Sin, who have really bonded over the last six months. They’ll visit, though, and Rocket is just as spoiled in Nanda Parbat as she is here. Ra’s didn’t even raise an eyebrow when they returned with her the first time, and Sara knows he sneaks her table scraps. 

Sara breathes in the cool afternoon air and takes in the way the setting sun glints orange and red off the glass skyscrapers. She’ll miss Starling City, but not enough to stay. This time she isn’t running from anything. She isn’t even running to anything. She’s living her life by her choice, together with the love of her life and one super cute dog.

Rocket suddenly surges forward, yanking Sara’s hand with her. She looks up and sees Nyssa walking towards them, in that stupid hat Sara endlessly teases her about but secretly finds sexy. Rocket strains to greet her.

“Everything okay?” Sara asks as Nyssa crouches down to pet Rocket briefly.

“Just fine,” Nyssa answers, standing. “It was simply getting a little crowded in there. I thought I would find you two and accompany you on the rest of the walk.”

“Okay,” Sara smiles, taking Nyssa’s extended hand. “You want one last milkshake?”

“They make milkshakes in places other than Starling,” Nyssa complains, even though Sara knows she will eventually agree.

“Not like Big Belly Burger!”

Nyssa sighs, but Sara can see the grin touching her lips. 

“Lead away, habibti.”

***

 

fin


End file.
